The Long Walk Home
by Moonalesca
Summary: It started with a smile thrown innocently across the classroom – one moment stolen from hundreds spent amongst textbooks and football and gossip of reality TV. One precious gesture shared between themselves that nobody else in the world would be privy to. Maybe today would lead to thousands more.
1. The Long Walk Home

For fifteen minutes after the final bell of the day, Sherwin had huddled himself closely to the lone oak at the far left of the school garden, knees bunched to his chest, eyes glimmering. Here, shrouded by the foliage, the other students might mistake the silhouette of his auburn curls for simply another mid-Autumn shrub.

Shirley grinned up from his outstretched palm. He grinned back at her, thankful, and waited.

Apple in hand, Johnathan slipped through the doors. They had agreed to meet after the last bell, when all the other students had trickled out the front gates and were a safe enough distance away that they could walk home together. Standing in that orange glow just before twilight, Johnathan turned his head, searching.

The agreed-upon meeting point was the still-overturned rubbish bin at the base of the concrete steps. So why was Sherwin not there? He continued looking, noticing only the moss-laden water fountain to the right and a parade of auburn shrubbery to the left, near that ancient oak.

What had been a glowing warmth in his chest gave way to a cold, dull cramp. He withdrew a second apple from his pocket and pondered binning it. It had been a risky move taking this extra one at lunch. Best not to waste it.

Another five minutes passed and still Sherwin had yet to appear.

One of the shrubs made an unusual movement, unsynchronised with the rest in the light breeze. Shirley poked out, and he realised.

The warmth returned.

It bloomed, unmitigated adoration coursing through his veins and kicking the air from his lungs.

Sherwin leapt to his feet, drinking in the cool air faster than he could expel it. He knew he was blushing – knew that in approximately ten seconds he might either faint or die from anxiety – and now Johnathan was approaching with his stunning smile and – oh God – Shirley tugged hard on Sherwin's finger and he and her were sailing over the garden – past the bushes and benches – thrice around a single lamppost – all as Johnathan came to a stop at the base of the steps, chuckling.

When at last Shirley released her grip, Sherwin found himself quite at odds. Though he desired nothing more than to spend at least three seconds losing himself in Johnathan's glittering eyes, he could barely manage one before shrinking in upon himself. The resulting gulp when Johnathan took his hand felt like a shard of glass. That simple act was also the reassurance he needed to raise his head and offer Johnathan something resembling a smile – though he was certain it had been a grimace.

It was then that Johnathan took over, pacing carefully toward – and past – Sherwin, maintaining his delicate grasp, leading him out of the school grounds.

Sherwin cast one last glance back at the shuttered windows and chipped stone walls, wondering how in the world such an average day as this could have become so distinctly unusual so quickly.

Long, thin shadows inched across narrow streets as the sun transitioned across a cloudless sky, casting the world and all things beyond in a tender, rosy hue.

Johnathan was taking Sherwin in a direction he had never travelled before. Various awnings and ornately-decorated shop signs lined one side of the street they had turned onto, each advertising items for such a multitude of purposes that this could have easily doubled as a shopping mall. Only one shop was open now, and it was the one Johnathan appeared to be eyeing – an ice cream parlour. A service window was open, a girl resting open the sill with her chin resting on her palm.

Johnathan faced Sherwin, eyebrows relaxing ever-so-slightly, the corner of his mouth tweaked into the gentlest of expressions. His head tilted towards the ice cream parlour.

Sherwin gulped again.

Nodded.

An uncomfortable moisture had made itself quite at home between their clasped hands – a direct result of the sheer terror flooding Sherwin the moment he realised that the woman at the service window was an old family friend.

Before Johnathan had time to react, Sherwin had already unwound their hands and run pell-mell in the opposite direction, turned right and darted down a residential street.

It was only when his feet stopped slapping against tarmac and instead crunched atop loose gravel that Sherwin came back to his senses, pleading for someone, anyone, to exorcise the unbridled fear from his soul.

He swivelled in place, calibrating himself. He was in a children's playground.

Breathing steadily, and silently berating himself for running off twice now, he perched himself on a swing, one hand on the chain, the other wiping away fresh tears.

The previous two months could barely be summed-up. "Whirlwind" would be far too inaccurate a description. "Typhoon" maybe. Or "Hurricane".

It had started with a smile thrown innocently across the classroom – one moment stolen from hundreds spent amongst textbooks and football and reality TV. One precious gesture shared between themselves that nobody else in the world would be privy to. Sherwin hoped today would lead to thousands more.

No, he decided.

Today _would_ lead to thousands more.

With this newfound conviction, he sighed contentedly to himself and pushed into the backwards arc of the swing, allowing it to carry him on his own momentum. For a few minutes, he swayed like that. Though the tears in his eyes remained, he allowed himself a subtle smile.

A tanned hand stopped the swing shortly after.

Johnathan held a single ice cream cone as he took the adjacent swing. Sherwin could see even from this angle that Johnathan wore an expression of concern. He gave him a reassuring smile, taking his hand.

Relief replaced concern, and Johnathan sighed, shaking his head. In the same motion, he offered the ice cream cone to Sherwin – who, instead of taking it, licked it once and nodded back in his direction.

Johnathan pointed at himself with raised eyebrows.

Nod.

And for a considerable while they were as they were: holding hands, eating ice cream, swinging together – but most importantly, enjoying each other's company.

Sherwin couldn't help but steal glances at Johnathan once every so often, and Johnathan would do exactly the same at the exact same moment.

The sun finished its final transition of the day; a deep ink bled over the rosy tint in the sky, pinpricks of light peeping out from behind a veil of darkness, as that great burning orb submitted to the will of the day and slinked behind the horizon.

Street lights illuminated the world in its stead, one popping to life right above the boys' heads as they left the playground behind. The rest came on ahead of them as if beckoning them home.

Moonlight peered through a light cover of cloud to bathe one half of Johnathan's face in some angelic haze, as he and Sherwin rounded one final corner. Sherwin's house blinked at the end of the street, the front door wide open and a dressing gown-clad figure waiting on the porch.

Shirley, who until now had settled back into Sherwin's chest, shot into his throat. He braced himself, urging her – begging her – to calm down. In his panic, he had failed to notice the glow.

Johnathan placed his hand over Sherwin's chest, soothing him. Bundled in his hand was a note, which he opened in front of Sherwin.

 _Boyfriend?_

Sherwin nodded, and instinctively draped his arms around Johnathan's neck.

It was only afterwards that he realised doing so would put them within less than an inch of each other. And now that's exactly how they were, teetering on a moment in time unforgettable to both, and so deeply yearned-for. A moment which, when stolen, would be so unspeakably different to all the others they would ever share that the future was now an inevitability.

Johnathan's eyes half-closed and his lips quirked into an adoring smile – the very same smile Sherwin had worn earlier that day whilst up in the tree.

Sherwin mirrored Johnathan's expression, finally acknowledging his rightful place here, as Johnathan's arms wound round his waist.

It had been a tiring day – an especially long afternoon – and the longest walk home of Sherwin's life. But as they closed the gap between them, bringing their lips together at last, it had been worth every single moment.


	2. When the Sun Comes Up

Bedtime.

That had been the intention, at any rate. Dirt and detritus still clagged Sherwin's hair into clumps of copper. The reason for that was, as luck would have it, that there were far more important discussions to be having with his mother – a dumpy, equally-auburn, equally-timid lady in her mid-thirties.

She had snared him by the collar of his school shirt as soon as he had stepped over the threshold and dragged him into the living room, peering between the slats on a set of vertical blinds as Johnathan faded into the forbidding darkness of the city beyond. When she had ascertained that he was nowhere to be seen, she rounded on her thirteen-year-old son.

Sherwin flinched – stuffed the note into his pocket – and hung his head, bracing himself for a tirade.

It never came.

She just stood there, studying him with eyes full of pity. He squirmed.

As she took a seat beside him on the sofa, he drew further inwards, scuttling away from her until he toppled over the arm and landed in a rather ungraceful sprawl on the carpet.

He hissed at that; the heels of his palms had turned a brutal shade of red and they were too tender to touch – which his mother decided was an appropriate course of action at that moment.

In his haste to hurry away from her, he tripped again, and promptly crawled backwards, ignoring the pain thundering over his hands.

Chest heaving – no, Shirley, not now – he cast a split-second glance at the floor beneath his mother's feet.

The note.

She was already unfurling its creased edges and gazing wistfully at the curly handwriting by the time Sherwin could react.

Dejected. Humiliated. Ashamed.

That all-too-familiar burning returned to his eyes and his vision became obscured by mist, and he was unable to control Shirley. She popped out of his chest again, snatching the note from his startled mother's hand and delivering it back to him.

She blew a raspberry at her.

Sherwin's mother stomped her foot once and gave a very loud, very clear grunt of disapproval. His eyes snapped in her direction, sweat erupting on his forehead – his neck – his palms – as she brought her hands down on his shoulders and glared into his very soul.

Beyond the shimmering domes was a mystery concealed by burning passion swirling amidst the emerald flames of a love lost long ago and the wisdom of one experienced beyond her years.

There was no judgement in her eyes, and now Sherwin could see that. He dashed into her open arms, sniffling and sobbing. All she needed to do to reassure him was stroke his back, kiss his forehead, and the tension in the house was immediately lifted.

She took the note from him and considered it briefly, then tilted her head towards the doorway suggestively. The arch in her brow suggested inquisition.

Nodding slowly, Sherwin retrieved the note and hugged it tightly to his chest, ever fearful that a sudden gust of wind might blow through the house and snatch this oh-so-precious item from him.

A firm hand ruffled his hair, followed by a long fingernail pointing to a sliver of light slicing through the darkness at the top of the staircase.

Shower first.

Then, finally, bed.

Almost half an hour it took to rinse away the scum from the previous day, and then another two hours on top of that to drift off to sleep.

Lying awake in bed at night had always been a vice of Sherwin's – it allowed him time to think of the day behind him, and there was plenty of thinking to be done tonight. In lieu of his usual bedtime routine of showering, brushing his teeth, and staring at the ceiling for an hour, he chose to instead sit on top of his desk, legs crossed, gazing wistfully at the clear, speckled sky outside.

For a city so small, there was still a healthy amount of nightlife even past midnight. Most residents, however, appeared to be feeling the effects of another long day at work or school; the only signs of activity nearby were a handful of incandescent light bulbs burning like fireflies several streets away.

Sherwin knelt, reaching for the window latch. It swung wide open with minimal effort – a symptom of a house too old to repair and a family too poor to afford removal.

He didn't dwell on that. He never had. And now he never would; wherever he looked, even the most ambiguous of shapes was as malleable as putty under his mind's eye, and he could instead choose to dwell on what mattered most to him. He poked his head out of the window and laid on his back, his hands coming to rest upon his chest, and he allowed himself to stare into the night sky. He sighed, a deep cleansing breath, as the stars in the constellation of Orion shuffled amongst themselves especially for him. When they had settled, Sherwin found himself eye-to-eye with the boy of his dreams – the handsome boy called Johnathan.

This wasn't a particularly new activity of his, but there was one very important aspect that could not be ignored.

This boy – the boy of his dreams – the handsome boy called Johnathan – was now _his_ handsome _boyfriend._

 _Johnathan_.

 _Radiant light split the canopy of leaves high above. One beam fell over Sherwin's eyes, white hot and far too bright to remain laying like this. He pushed himself up on the heels of his hands, kneading lush blades of grass between his fingers. They were cool and crisp, like a freshly-watered lawn on a hot summer's day._

 _He had awoken in a clearing of sorts, surrounded on three sides by a nest of trees. Ahead of him – beyond the clearing – was a small pond that fed into a brook chattering somewhere in the distance. A silhouette crouched before it, one hand lazily tracing circles over the glittering water. It paused for a moment when Sherwin stood._

 _Up leapt a trio of koi, trailing beautiful, colourful arches before splashing back into the pond._

 _Sherwin ran towards the figure wrapped in an ethereal glow. But as he reached the pond, the figure had vanished, and if he didn't stop at that second, he'd be swimming with the fishes – quite literally._

 _He was out of the clearing now, gawping around at this strange, unexplored world – a world of blues and reds and greens and greys – of sapphire water and crystal skies – of mountainous rocks and vibrant greenery – of life and love and mile-high waterfalls. The pond fed not into a brook as first thought, but endlessly cascaded a half-mile to froth and foam near the riverside embankments below._

 _There he was!_

 _In that same prone position, yet again tracing lazy circles over the surface of the water. It glanced upwards this time, at Sherwin – through him – and immediately wisped into nothingness._

 _An unsafe idea exploded in Sherwin's skull – no, an_ insane _idea._

 _If that figure was determined not to be caught, Sherwin was even more determined to catch up to him._

 _He circled the pond, contemplating the angle that would be least catastrophic to his weedy frame. When at last he had decided, he took a single, sharp breath, scrunched his eyes shut…_

 _Leapt._

 _Freezing vapor screamed past his ears and up his nostrils, stealing the air from his lungs and knocking all semblance of sense from his head as he plummeted past the waterfall._

 _He estimated that he'd been falling for roughly two centuries before something caught at the back of his collar. Instead of falling, it was as if he was now flying – soaring even – and from this viewpoint, at the world's highest height, the flora and fauna below were as ants, and the daystars above gazed upon him like the deities of an ancient, forgotten realm._

 _Johnathan was among them, eyes ablaze with adoration._

Why was his face buried in the carpet?

That was how Sherwin had awoken – face down in his own drool – tasting fabric. He hauled himself to his feet, rubbing his bleary eyes. That was when he paid attention to the clock on his desk.

Already fifteen minutes late, he yanked his clothes on and bolted out of the house, leaving behind his school bag, his breakfast and his dignity.

With only two minutes to spare, Sherwin sidled into the school's main hallway. It would be almost impossible to tell Johnathan apart from the thick, grey ocean of students lining the hall, some of them rummaging around in their lockers, most of them idly chattering between themselves in their own stolen moments.

Sherwin resigned himself to finding his locker, nursing an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He tried not to miss breakfast when he could help it – and he guessed today was just one of those days. It was hard to tell if he was missing much else, because the combination of a late bedtime, an awkward night's sleep on the floor, and an empty stomach left him very cotton-headed.

Johnathan was standing in front of his, Sherwin's, locker, his face a canvas of confusion. He was about to take a bite of his apple when he spotted Sherwin approaching, black-eyed and bedraggled, which only served to compound the confusion.

His first reaction was to adjust Sherwin's collar – in his haste to flee the house this morning, Sherwin had neglected to do up the buttons on his polo shirt.

For Johnathan, it was instinctual, really. His parents had always taught him to look after his appearance, which was why he liked to make sure that his hair was as prim and proper as it was. He carried a comb and hairspray in his bag specifically for this purpose.

Sherwin's stomach rumbled.

A huddle of girls across the hall stared at them when Johnathan, smiling warmly, withdrew from Sherwin's collar, pointing at his stomach. They whispered amongst themselves, pointing as well. Sherwin hadn't noticed, and perhaps that was for the best; Johnathan was not as fragile as Sherwin, who would undoubtedly break down again if he knew that people were beginning to take notice of, and question, their interactions.

Overhead, the first bell of the day rang loud and shrill. For now, Sherwin and Johnathan would have to part ways until lunch. They stood around Sherwin's locker for a little while after the throng had dispersed, and shared a sneaky kiss. Sherwin watched as Johnathan headed in his own direction, and took a bite out of the apple he had been given.

At lunch, Sherwin raced to the counter, grabbed a sandwich, some fruit and some orange juice, and tucked himself away in the corner furthest from the tall, glass windows opening up to the stone courtyard outside. Meeting Johnathan here was only his secondary motivation for moving so fast; the simple matter was that his stomach had begun painfully cramping during History, an hour before that saviour of a lunch bell rang.

In spite of his speed, he was not the first student to arrive. A group of four girls were sitting at a table near the windows, giggling and chatting and pointing as Johnathan, seemingly oblivious, walked past them with his lunch tray. Something akin to jealousy – but not quite as lethal – settled in Sherwin's stomach. Shirley popped out of his chest and skipped along the table as Johnathan approached.

Their greeting was nothing less simple than a blush and a smile.

Johnathan, at first, placed himself on the outer edge of the bench beside the table, while Sherwin sat in the centre, munching mindlessly on a piece of lettuce that had fallen out of his sandwich. Shirley rolled over the table top with her goofy grin, eyes wide, and snagged Johnathan by his index finger, tugging gently, until at last he relented and shifted closer to Sherwin.

Sherwin almost leapt out of his skin when Johnathan's thigh met his.

By now, the dining hall was teeming with life, as segregated as the school's social circles were.

In a long line of hulking muscle, prissy hair, makeup and mindless gossip, sat the jocks and the cheerleaders. Though nobody at school had made it their personal endeavour to isolate and intimidate Sherwin, there had always been an air of discomfort when around them. While the girls would often be best friends while together, one would not get the same kind of vibe from them when they were apart. It was their backstabbing viciousness that Sherwin found unpalatable. As for the jocks, why, most of them had indeed tried approaching Sherwin in the past with friendly intentions, but living on opposite sides of the social scale left very little in common for them, and so Sherwin had kept to himself.

Not even the nerds, who sat near the kitchens in what they believed was their own decision, held many commonalities with Sherwin. He was an outsider, he realised, even among outsiders.

The only person who had ever shown him the right kind of attention was sitting right here with him, their thighs touching, their hands secretly intertwined under the table.

Shirley leapt into the air and snuggled herself into Sherwin's chest, disappearing through his shirt.

Everyone was so active now – whether they be talking amongst their friends or eating lunch – that nobody paid attention to this new couple minding their own business in their own little corner, divided from the rest of the world.

For the remainder of lunch time they remained there, sharing glances, eating, laughing.

When the bell rang, neither of them knew any sense of disappointment; their next lesson was Art, and it was the only lesson they shared.

Sherwin, as always, took his seat by the back window.

Outside of this cosy bubble, amid the early-afternoon, a smothering of cloud drifted so low that a thick fog was beginning to form. Where once Sherwin would have been able to make the outline of the street on which he lived, behind avenues of houses, he could now make out only an opaque wall of greyish-white. It did little to dampen his mood.

Johnathan took his regular seat at the front of the class; he'd not had chance to take the seat beside Sherwin due to four cheerleader-types following the auburn-haired boy as soon as they'd entered the class, and now they surrounded him in his corner. Johnathan cast a forlorn glance over his shoulder, already missing Sherwin.

He lowered his head, picking up one of the coloured pencils their teacher – an elderly man with a moustache that covered his mouth – had left on their desks along with a sketchpad opened to a fresh page.

The teacher cleared his throat, drawing the attention of all the students but one: Sherwin, sketching pencil in hand, had already formed the faint outline of what would become his latest 'masterpiece'. In reality, his drawing skills amounted to little more than stick figures – or, that's how he saw himself.

The teacher cleared his throat again, and this time Sherwin took note.

A long ruler rapped on the blackboard, on which a single word had been scrawled in an untidy font – 'Dreams'. The ruler then tapped just beneath the clock above the blackboard: they had forty-five minutes.

In a collective scrape of pencils scratching paper, the class got to work.

One of the girls to Sherwin's right made repeated attempts at gaining his attention – at first through subtle motions with her hand, which Sherwin chose to ignore. They became more insistent over time, to the point where Sherwin was unable to focus on colouring accurately. He checked over at Johnathan, whose head was buried in the sketchpad, a blue coloured pencil scribbling furiously.

Sherwin faced the rude girl, who tilted her head at first towards Johnathan and then at Sherwin himself. The way she wiggled her eyebrows was telling. There was a remarkable warmth in the look she gave him – almost assuring. When she formed a heart shape with her hands, he knew she was sincere.

He nodded, a huge grin plastered over his face, and she silently squealed into her balled-up fists.

Shirley began glowing in his chest, though only he and the girl beside him noticed. The girl held up a sign with one word on it:

 _Ellie._

And only minutes afterwards were they laughing between themselves, showing each other their work.

Ellie, who until now had seemed more of a stereotypical, ditzy girl with blonde hair, had created a magnificent vista of icy lakes, even icier mountains – and in the centre, cast in an indelible fine-lined ink, stood a comparably miniscule wooden cabin which belched plumes of smoke from its chimney, its candlelit windows throwing orange ghosts over the ice in the empty darkness of an eternal night.

Sherwin gulped.

His portrait of Johnathan was amateurish by comparison. Perhaps drawing him was a bad idea – nobody knew that either of them were gay, let alone a couple. This certainly wouldn't improve the situation, even if Ellie's positive reaction was to be taken as a prediction of future events.

He was about to crumple it up and throw it in the bin when Ellie, alarmed, dived from her seat and snatched it out of his grip. As her chair clattered to the floor, she hurriedly stuffed the drawing in her school bag and placed a finger to her lips to prevent Sherwin from trying to take it back. She tapped her temple; an idea.

This commotion had drawn the attention of multiple students in the class, including Johnathan, and their teacher.

The teacher coughed, nostrils flaring. Ellie slumped back into her chair while Sherwin hung himself over the side of his table, his eyes pleading her to return it. She shook her head, tapping her temple once more.

Though the commotion inside had settled, the same could not be said outside. Heavy drops of rain partially obscured the windows, a gale blowing fiercely: the bushes flanking either side of the courtyard lashed at the wind, the sunflowers battering side-to-side with such ferocity that more than a couple of them were uprooted, as the darkened sky opened up to the void, battering all that was with unrelenting hail.

The students, sufficiently distracted from their work, took that as their cue to evacuate their seats and converge at the windows overlooking the car park. Only one of them broke rank: Johnathan appeared at Sherwin's side, brushing his arm affectionately against him while attempting to maintain a casual visage. Horror pooled like congealed blood in a basin above his gut – Ellie was grinning far wider than should ever have been allowed, making that heart shape with her hands again and instilling both Johnathan and Sherwin with a consuming awkwardness.

She gave them the thumbs-up and moved across the room to join the other students. The two young boys hopped onto Sherwin's desk.

Poor Mr Moustache, conceding defeat, slumped into his chair behind his desk and began rifling through some test papers. The others took this as a dismissal, and filed out of the classroom with five minutes left. Ellie left a drawing of some sort on the cabinet by the classroom door, before leaving as well.

Sherwin and Johnathan, on the other hand, existed in their own pocket of time, where the world moved on as normal around them, entirely ignorant of the love blooming right in front of it. Sherwin rested his weary head on Johnathan's shoulder as the sky stitched itself together and the rain slowed to a light drizzle.

Breaking over the horizon, relinquishing this beautiful world from the harsh grip of a mid-Autumn storm, the sun bathed everything with its gentle, forgiving light.

Johnathan gazed down at a snoozing Sherwin, and awarded himself a small smile. He placed a kiss to Sherwin's forehead, snaking an arm around his waist and pulling him closer.

The bell would ring for English soon and they would need to part ways again.

Until that time came, Johnathan would relish this all-too-precious moment handed to them by fate.

He scrutinised his own drawing, which he had intended to give to Sherwin.

It was a visual representation of a dream he'd had the night before: a world of blues and reds and greens and greys – of sapphire water and crystal skies – of mountainous rocks and vibrant greenery – of life and love and mile-high waterfalls.

Of Sherwin.


	3. The Right Words

Upon arrival home that day, Sherwin's mother had been waiting patiently in the living room, a plastic carrier bag between her legs and a knowing smirk across her face.

It was unsettling, seeing her like that. Normally, their afterschool greetings were as simple as a hug and a hot plate of food. Plastic carrier bags and knowing smirks constituted a special occasion – and what special occasion was this? As far as he was aware, his birthday wasn't for another two months. Could he really have been in that pocket of spacetime for so long?

She beckoned him over, an excited gleam flashing in her eyes. Whatever was in the carrier bag looked fairly bulky, but its shape changed every time she adjusted the bag. When at last she revealed the contents, Sherwin found it hard to see why she was so excited.

A beige shirt and a fresh pair of jeans weren't really much of anything. Nevertheless, he accepted it gratefully and thanked her with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

He was about to move into the kitchen to fetch himself some food when she pulled him back. She brandished two slips of paper at him – tickets?

Bewildered, he took them from her outstretched hand and read them carefully.

 ** _Roseberry Showcase Cinemas, Park Avenue_**

 ** _Laserman IV_**

 ** _PG-13_**

 ** _Admission: Adults (0), Minors (2)_**

 ** _Screen: 3_**

 ** _Seats: A-13, A-14_**

He swallowed, stunned.

He was staring at the cinema tickets in disbelief when his mother embraced him, kissing his forehead. She ruffled his hair again, bidding him away when she could see the contemplation on his face – for this motherly act, the only repayment she expected was that Sherwin would come home happier than when he left.

Eight o'clock.

Three hours.

That was how long Sherwin had to shower, eat dinner, get dressed, and quell the hammering of his heart; tonight's date would likely go off without a hitch if one small detail could be worked out – how would Johnathan know to be ready?

Seven o'clock ticked over, and still that question had not been answered. Sherwin's mother pottered about the living room while he sat at his desk in his room, wearing the brand new beige shirt and jeans. His mother had brought him a chipped bottle of cologne half an hour earlier, but instead of spraying it over himself he had placed it on his desk and let it sit there. The problem wasn't that it smelled awful; the problem was that it was filled with bittersweet memories. The two years since his father had last worn it felt like a forever ago – it was almost empty, only a few sprays at most remaining. Using them up felt like the gravest disrespect.

He had been raised to be better than disrespecting the dead.

He felt a shadow creep over his quivering back like the tired hands of days gone by. Cradling his head, he let the hot tears trickle down his cheeks and onto the bottle cap. His mother would have to wait until this moment passed, as he knew she always did.

Broaching the topic of his father's death gave him stomach cramps and the undying need to escape to his own little slice of reality. The truth of it was, Sherwin's father had been a man drowning in the cement of his own mind – a man tortured by the sins of an era left far behind but unforgotten – never forgotten. And as the worst memories have that nasty habit of doing, they would resurface just as one course of treatment was finally starting to work – just as the cement began to loosen, those memories would seal the cracks once more. The final time this happened, it became clear that there would be no escape – unless he made the escape route himself.

Sherwin cut his thoughts at that, for fear of being an emotional wreck during the date.

Grabbing a tissue from the box beside him, he wiped his eyes and sniffled, smiling through the sadness at the bottle of cologne. His father had always told him that the way to a woman's heart was through her nose. Was there any reason that logic couldn't apply to a man – a boy?

That was when he noticed a peculiar scent titillating his nostrils. Not the usual floral perfume that his mother regular wore – but a masculine cinnamon that reminded him of apple pie. A familiar figure was silhouetted on his bedroom wall, over his head. Tall and slender, and just that little bit lean.

It was the shape of the hair he recognised first.

He leapt up from his chair and wheeled on the spot.

Johnathan leaned against the door frame, clad in a smart, blue shirt and jeans, his expression soft. The glimmer in his eyes as the dull ceiling light cut across his face bundled Sherwin's wounded heart into bandages woven by love.

For the first time, Sherwin possessed the unwavering courage to pace across the room and throw his arms around Johnathan. He planted a light kiss to his cheek and even rubbed their noses together, grinning.

Was this the kind of affection spoken of only in fairy tales?

Quarter-past-seven.

There was still enough time to sit around, at least for a little while.

They moved over to Sherwin's single bed and sat down.

Over the past two days, Johnathan had had an unprecedented impact on Sherwin. He was now much less anxious, and even made a new friend at school in the form of Ellie – all thanks to this handsome young man sitting next to him.

He laid back on the bed, facing the ceiling.

Johnathan stroked a gentle hand on his leg and leaned over him, aligning their faces.

There was something behind those amber eyes – Sherwin's eyes. Tragedy, and just a hint of something purer. He thought he might have known what that could be, but didn't want to make what could potentially be an inaccurate – and therefore disastrous – assumption.

So, he moved to Sherwin's side, embracing him from there and nuzzling into his neck. Sliding his left arm under Sherwin's back, he hadn't expected him to be so light – he couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. There was a great deal endearing about that; he pulled Sherwin closer and kissed his cheek, revelling in this new and exhilarating intimacy.

Shirley wriggled out from under Sherwin's shirt, eyes widening at the sight of these two boys cuddling so closely.

They widened further still as Joanne appeared, climbing over Sherwin's forearm. She wore the same daft beam as Shirley, except hers was aimed at the blue haze radiating from Johnathan's chest.

For once, it wasn't Sherwin who started crying.

Though he attempted to hide his tears, Johnathan knew that Sherwin was far too close to not notice the damp patches on his shirt sleeve.

Sherwin shuffled under Johnathan's arm, pushing his back against his stomach in the hope that he would know what to do. When said arm drew itself over and in front of him, he inhaled deeply – inhaled Johnathan's affection, his scent – thrived on it.

High-pitched humming echoed up the staircase, followed by the quiet, rhythmic _poofing_ of a pair of fluffy slippers marching across the landing. Sherwin's mother appeared in the doorway, eyes twinkling immediately upon seeing the two boys. She motioned to the clock on the wall.

Thirty minutes until the film started: exactly the amount of time it would take to walk to the cinema.

Sherwin still needed to know how Johnathan knew about the date, but there wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Half-past-seven was far too early for this area of town to be so quiet. Not even the cicadas were present, their missing chirps a stark omission amidst the moon's effulgent darkness. Eerie shadows stretched over the roads and pavements like withered fingers, as Sherwin and Johnathan wandered, hand-in-hand, through the network of side streets and back alleys.

They were heading in the direction of the playground from yesterday.

Johnathan had been to the cinema before, it seemed, as he paid little heed to any signs and street names during their walk.

He took a phone out of his pocket and quickly checked the time. Twenty-to-eight. He was confident that he and Sherwin could arrive in ten minutes. Which left ten more minutes for… what, exactly?

Sherwin glanced at him, curious. Using his phone during the film would be extremely rude, so Johnathan powered it down after showing Sherwin the time.

With extra time to spare, they could afford to slow their pace a bit. This had the very fortunate side effect of enabling more hand-holding, more nose-nuzzling, and more sideways glances.

Sherwin wasn't quite sure what he was expecting: neon signs pierced the night, casting away all shades of darkness as Sherwin and Johnathan turned onto Park Avenue. As bright as it was, the cinema appeared fairly underwhelming. Moss had formed up from the ground and creeped through the damp masonry like a spider's web. Its windows were obscured by internal condensation, and the attendant at the ticket booth carried an air of utter apathy.

There wasn't even a concessions stand.

Johnathan grimaced at Sherwin. Maybe this wasn't what he was expecting, either.

Their hands still intertwined, they gave their tickets to the attendant, who punched them through without paying a lick of attention. He merely thumbed to his right, eyes glassy:

 _Scre_ns 1-4_ _à_

 _Las_r_an IV_

 _NO_ SH_WI_G_

Askance, Johnathan and Sherwin entered the cinema.

The instant the door closed behind them, their universe plunged into nothingness. It was a small relief when the number three stuttered to life ahead of them. That relief was transient; it coughed out a shower of sparks seconds later and died completely.

But they knew where they needed to head now, and that was the important thing.

Together, they found their seat at the back of the vacant room. Perhaps there was a good reason they were the only people at the cinema – _this_ cinema - on a Friday night.

Sherwin briefly considered leaving with Johnathan and later reimbursing his mother for the tickets out of the savings from his allowance, but worried that that could be ungrateful. He'd stick it out for now, and pray that the film would be good enough to outweigh the terrible surroundings.

The chances of that happening were fairly slim; an awful stench – the stench of something unspeakable – rose out of the seats in front of them like a haunting.

Blazing light burst onto the cinema screen, which promptly collapsed from the top-right corner as a small tear exploded into a gash. The sound it made reminded Sherwin of a balloon popping next to his ear: he and Johnathan practically hit the ceiling.

The ticket attendant stumbled into the room with a fire extinguisher, apparently moving faster than his own feet could carry him.

There was no fire.

When the attendant noticed them staring at him, he ushered them out of the room and slid a bolt into place. He forcibly took Johnathan's hand and shoved a fistful of bank notes into it. He was engulfed in darkness as he headed for a fire exit down the corridor.

Sherwin and Johnathan blinked at one another.

Conflicting emotions churned in Sherwin's stomach. On one hand, the screen malfunction had been a welcome reprieve from that awful place. On the other hand, it meant that he and Johnathan were without an activity for their date.

Johnathan was lost in thought beside him, their hands still knitted together. Was he thinking of taking Sherwin to the playground again?

Shadow shifted over the city, clawing back the glow of the moon as cloud descended. Those fireflies dancing about the houses in the distance appeared brighter now, emitting a low hum that followed Sherwin and Johnathan as they dawdled along the path back to Sherwin's house. What a wasted night.

Sherwin watched his feet as his walked, unable to think of much else to occupy his time aside from gazing at Johnathan some more.

He knew what could possibly make up for the lack of a proper date, but his insides squirmed at the thought. And that was before he considered the distinct possibility that his mother's hospitality towards Johnathan may cut itself short of _that_.

Blushing had become such a default state of being for Sherwin that he hadn't noticed the burning until Johnathan graced his cheek with a tender hand, grabbing his attention.

In the still night air, they hung.

Sherwin's lips were parted as his eyes traced that lithe frame, brilliant blue eyes – those thin lips opened up, and Johnathan grew closer. Sherwin licked his lips, his chest aflutter. He pressed himself into Johnathan's embrace and hugged him tightly, his face meeting Johnathan's.

Something in the way Johnathan held Sherwin felt familiar, yet different. There was a desperation enveloped in it. Sherwin had experienced this before – understood it – lived it.

He drew away from Johnathan, whose lips quirked at the corners. It was all too easy to get lost in that expression. Even easier to lose all sense of self in the gesture he was making with one hand.

A half-heart.

A wholly new emotion struck Sherwin like the birth of star. He quaked in place, extending a hand to Johnathan with little thought. Curling his fingers into a half-heart of his own, he aligned it with Johnathan's.

In that instance of unity, Shirley and Joanne burst forth. They linked their tiny arms and hovered in a wide circle above their heads, a pink-and-blue halo radiant in the night.

The clock ticked nine-thirty when Sherwin and Johnathan arrived at Sherwin's doorstep. Unlike the other times before, Shirley plain refused to settle back into Sherwin's chest. It appeared Joanne was just as stubborn as her; in spite of Johnathan's valiant attempts at tucking her safely away under his shirt, she exerted enormous strength in resisting. Both hearts danced around the two boys, and Shirley was brave enough to take Joanne by the hand and lead her over the threshold.

Sherwin flushed, casting an uncomfortable glance at Johnathan. He made a bold movement, leading Johnathan after their hearts. The front door clicked shut behind them.

In a corner of the living room, situated to the left of the hallway, a subtle glow illuminated a figure dozing in an armchair. It moved when Sherwin took the first step up to his bedroom; how convenient that this old house would choose now to announce its age by creaking.

Seconds stretched into years. Sherwin's mother was still fast asleep in there, and needed to stay that way.

He took Johnathan by the hand and tilted his head towards his bedroom. This night would be one to remember, for all the right reasons, for years to come.

Sherwin peeled back his duvet and climbed inside, clad in a set of olive pyjamas.

A sleeping bag had already been laid out before he got home – his mother knew his heart better than even he did. He admitted privately to himself that its presence was something of a dampener.

Johnathan emerged from the bathroom across the hall, flicking the light off as he tiptoed over the carpet and entered Sherwin's room. He allowed the door to swing shut behind him, but it wouldn't budge when he tried forcing it the last inch into the frame. Confused, he considered ramming it until Sherwin's frail hands grabbed his bicep, an urgent finger placed over his lips.

Joanne and Shirley were nestled together at the head of the sleeping bag, their eyes already shut. The small lump rose and fell as their breathing became shallow and they drifted off together.

That left no room for Johnathan.

Anywhere.

Apart from the bed.

With Sherwin.

 _Gulp._

They'd huddled together just a couple of hours ago and it had been perfect. So why the hesitation?

Even in the shade of the wall behind him, Sherwin's rosy cheeks and amber eyes shone like beacons. And Johnathan, who until now had always fought his heart and succeeded, was resigned to perching on the edge of the bed, focussing intently on the threadbare, ruby carpet. Things were moving so fast – it had swept his feet out from under him – _Sherwin_ had swept his feet out from under him – and now here he was, about to spend his first night with the boy who, until thirty-six hours ago, had been a two-month-old crush.

Sherwin gnawed on his lower lip, unsure about Johnathan's quietness. In all that had happened since yesterday, now was the most vulnerable he had seen him.

He offered him an out – Johnathan's clothes were folded-up and laid neatly on the desk, his phone silent beside them. Sherwin gestured towards them.

A nervous lump slicked down Johnathan's throat and caught just above his lungs. He gave Sherwin a once-over, considering his options. This was a night he only ever dreamed of – and that was only because his dreams didn't ask his permission.

No.

This awkwardness needed to come to an end if he and Sherwin were to pursue anything worthwhile.

It had begun with a shy smile cast fleetingly over the heads of an oblivious cohort.

There was no reason why tonight shouldn't happen. It was only one night, after all, and Johnathan knew that there would be nothing more than two intimate bodies in that bed, and that the only movements would be of hugging – and perhaps a kiss or two.

If he was being honest with himself, his hesitation stemmed more from the occasional, fleeting thrills that electrified his body when around Sherwin. He had heard of hormones before and the effects they could have on a teenage boy, but it had never crossed his mind that he would be affected around Sherwin – or, at least, definitely not this soon. And confining himself to such a small space with Sherwin for an entire night? Well, that was a disaster waiting to happen… wasn't it?

Sharp agony shot through his heart when he chanced a glance over at Sherwin, whose expression had fallen into a limp reflection of the fear he showed yesterday, when Johnathan had pieced his heart together.

Seeing that expression again ignited determination at his core: it engulfed him and spread like wildfire from there, washing over his chest – his limbs – his fingers and toes.

Some base instinct consumed him, unlike any other need or desire he had ever known – fierce and calm and ugly and beautiful and raging and yet soothing and it swirled in his stomach like a sickening knot – it rushed up through his body – all sense scattered in every direction –– his lungs sang, his brain rang, the blood rushing in his ears building up to a grand crescendo.

And in a raw, carnal exposure:

"I love you!"


	4. Symphony

Johnathan was the first to wake.

Leaning out of Sherwin's bedroom window, the bitter air pinched at his cheeks and numbed his nose – not that he paid it much heed. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts – with his own disbelief. Last night had come from nowhere: the phone call from Sherwin's mother announcing their date came just as Johnathan prepared to jump into the shower.

"Um, hello?" she had said, mild anxiety settling over her words like a thin layer of dust. "Is that Johnathan?"

"Yeah? Who's this?"

"It's Sherwin's mother – Sandra – I spotted your telephone number on the back of that lovely little note you gave him last night, and…"

And from there she told him of the cinema tickets – of the elation on Sherwin's face when she gave him them. That she had to ask if Johnathan was up for the date was more of a formality than anything else. How could he refuse?

Why _would_ he refuse?

Content with his decision to bear all last night, he released a dreamy sigh.

Dawn broke at the world's edge.

It was Saturday. One week and six days from now and it would be Halloween – and with the holiday would come the school's annual dance.

Johnathan peered over his shoulder at the still-sleeping Sherwin, whose soft features gained a fuzzy outline as the first shafts of light beamed in through the window. Could it really be true that this adorable, auburn-haired boy was now his to call his own?

"I really do, Sherwin…" Johnathan whispered to himself.

Joanne shrugged herself free from Johnathan's pyjama shirt and sat on his shoulder, watching Sherwin with him. Her sapphire glow was brighter than usual this morning, and with good reason.

Sherwin's knees had buckled as soon as Johnathan uttered those three fateful words. He caught himself on the desk before he could hit the floor.

"W-What did you say?"

And Johnathan had repeated himself, beaming as Sherwin wore the words across his chest like a ribbon.

A cinema reel of the previous two days played in Johnathan's head – of Sherwin's initial heartbreak and subsequent joy – of their first walk home together – of the many firsts that came with such pure, young love.

Sherwin stirred in the bed.

He was wrapped in amongst his duvet, using it as a body pillow.

Johnathan had an idea. He gingerly lifted the duvet away from Sherwin, who grunted. One part of relationships that had always intrigued him was how it felt to be a little spoon. Sherwin had already experience that twice now – once before their date, and then for the entirety of last night. Now it was Johnathan's turn.

He slid in front of Sherwin and pulled the covers over the two of them, inching his back closer to Sherwin's stomach.

No wonder this was all the girls at school talked about: Sherwin's unique warmth radiated from that very special point in his torso, just above his navel. It snared Johnathan about the waist and spread its enticing love over his back, as Sherwin, groggy, smacked his lips and reeled him in further, nuzzling into his neck. Sherwin slept on.

Once Johnathan had woken up, it was always a fruitless endeavour to try sleeping again.

Not that he minded it this time; why sleep some more when he was bundled up a magical bubble of warmth?

Johnathan remained like that for some time, eyes shut, inhaling the sweetness of the cologne Sherwin wore the previous night.

It had taken a lot of inner strength for Sherwin to wear it, that much had been clear; it was reminiscent of a man in his thirties rather than a teenaged boy, with some sort of bitter undertone that Johnathan had never smelled on anyone at school other than his male teachers. Judging by the impeccably clean photo frame on Sherwin's desk, the cologne had belonged to his father – and the way Sherwin kissed the photo of his younger self and an older, balding man before going to sleep told Johnathan all he needed to know.

He knew what being fatherless was like, though he was unfamiliar with the grief of losing one because he didn't know what it felt like to have one in the first place.

Joanne sat next to Sherwin, stroking his cheek. It brought a smile to Johnathan's lips.

By now, the sun had risen high enough in the sky to stop blazing directly in through the window. Johnathan thanked that small mercy; he had been seeing stars for the last few minutes and only remained where he lay to avoid waking Sherwin up.

A wasted notion, it seemed; Sherwin's mother rapped on the bedroom door just then.

"Sherwin?" came her hushed voice.

Sherwin stirred again.

Johnathan got up. He shook Sherwin's shoulder.

"Come on, Sher, it's time to wake up."

The words were like cotton in Sherwin's ears. He pulled himself up on the heels of his hands, his stomach tingling for some reason – as if something warm had been pressed up against him until a few moments ago. In fact, his insides were all fuzzy.

The blush on Johnathan's cheeks was telling.

* * *

"So, Johnathan, tell me about yourself," said Sherwin's mother, as she poured fresh orange juice into a glass. She handed it to him. "How did you meet my little Sherrybean?"

"Mum!" Sherwin whined. He slammed his knife and fork down on the kitchen table, chewing furiously.

Johnathan should have expected questions – of course – but it had been from the moment he left Sherwin's bedroom that this portly woman had thrown all she had at him; it bordered on interrogation. He squirmed in place, deliberately chewing on the small piece of bacon in his mouth to give him a reason not to answer. He'd stopped tasting it two minutes ago.

The expectant eyes scrutinising him were beginning to show signs of impatience, so he swallowed the food and his pride along with it.

"School," he said plainly. "Art."

"Oh, Sherwin has always been a good artist!"

Johnathan privately agreed.

After the bell had rung to signal the end of Art, Sherwin hauled himself away from Johnathan and shared a goodbye kiss. Johnathan waited until Sherwin exited the classroom before hurrying over to the cabinet Ellie had left Sherwin's drawing on.

In those gentle, curved lines – in pastel pink cheeks and baby blue eyes – Johnathan saw a reflection of himself. A young boy smitten with another, the portrait Sherwin had created embodied all his idolatry. An odd kind of yearning birthed in Johnathan – the _real_ Johnathan – as he picked it up and hugged it to his chest.

That drawing now lay in his schoolbag, which he had left at home – where his mother was.

Waiting.

"Please excuse me!"

Johnathan charged out of the kitchen, through the living room, up the staircase, across the landing and into Sherwin's bedroom. His phone vibrated on the desktop, a photo of his mother flashing angrily on the screen. His heart threw itself into his throat, as with a shaky finger, he hit that ominous green button.

"Johnathan?!"

"Y-Yes, Mum?"

"Thank God it's you! Oh, I was so worried, sweetheart – where are you?!"

Ah. He would need to improvise now – and be smart about his words.

"I – erm – er…"

Just like that. Easy.

He rolled his eyes.

"A friend's."

"A _friend's_? Honey, you don't just stay over at a friend's house without telling your poor old Mum where you are! What were you thinking – I've been worried sick! You left the house last night without a word of where you were going and who you were going with and why-"

"Johnathan?"

Sherwin took a tentative step into the bedroom. One arm hung across his chest, holding the other against him, frowning with uncertainty.

Johnathan almost dropped his phone. As he caught himself, he knocked the End Call button and instantly knew what would be prowling around his house right then.

"M'all right, Sher," he said, but wasn't particularly convinced that he would be all right later. "Was just Mum. I'm going to have to go soon, or she'll be even more upset."

Something gnawed at Sherwin: his face contorted into a display of anxious concern.

An uncomfortable silence grew between them, expanding like a balloon. Sherwin appeared dejected.

"Look, Sher-"

"You didn't tell her, did you? About the date – about us?"

"It's not all that simple. I wish it were."

Johnathan slumped onto the bed, staring blankly at his phone. He wiped the corner of his eye.

It wasn't his mother's reaction that concerned him. It was being her only child – her only avenue of grandchildren in the future. Regardless of whether he stayed with Sherwin for the rest of his life or found someone else, he would never be able to give her what she had regularly swooned over from the day he turned eleven.

"Oh, Johnny, you're growing up so fast! Just wait until the day you meet _her_. You'll know as soon as you see her – you'll think of everything you've ever wanted and then suddenly, it won't matter, because you'll have her and she'll be all that matters until, together, you bring your own children into the world."

That had been an extremely unsettling ramble. The more he laid back and recalled the supposedly jocular wedding plans that his mother rattled out afterwards, the more his cringing intensified.

At eleven, Johnathan started noticing subtle differences between himself and the other boys in his class. Where they spoke openly and fondly of girls, he privately keened over the very same boys and would be completely unresponsive if they tried roping him into one of their sultry conversations. Whether they had noticed was of little concern; his old school was far away from this one, where his only concerns were his grades and Sherwin. Any time a girl approached him, he politely declined. Likewise, he feigned deafness if ever boys turned conversation to the matter of his relationships.

Maintaining the façade of ambivalent heterosexuality had been easy enough.

Until Sherwin, those two months ago.

* * *

 _"_ _Have a good day, honey!"_

 _Johnathan slammed the car door shut after he clambered out, clutching his book with one hand and an apple in the other. He bid his mother a quick goodbye, barely raising his hand._

 _Keep your heart in the shadows, he told himself. It seemed easy enough; the three-storey building in front of him was already doing half the job for him._

 _He didn't like the faint halo arching over the school. It was completely at odds with the cracked stone walls and shuttered windows, of which there were far too many with too little space between them. Was this how prisoners felt on their first day, too?_

 _A river of murky grey barrelled past him, feeding into a great lake of somehow murkier grey in the front garden of the school. Only one area was unoccupied, and that was behind the auburn shrubbery beneath the ancient-looking oak to his far left._

 _Like a ghost, he phased through the crowd, meandering around closed-in clusters of kids from varying backgrounds. At least his Latino heritage wasn't a rare sight here. There were enough others like him that not even they were aware that such fresh meat wandered so willingly among them – but they weren't like him enough._

 _"_ _Hey, Robert!"_

 _A clawed hand snagged his shoulder and whirled him about. The girl in front of him, a fair few years older, wore a face somewhere under all that makeup. She towered over him._

 _"_ _Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else."_

 _And she released him, just like that._

 _Too stunned by the encounter, Johnathan didn't notice that she ruffled his hair until he swam further through the crowd. He was close enough to the oak now to be caught by the shade of its branches, and that was when he realised that his perfectly pruned quiff jutted out at odd angles. He weaved in and around the other students some more – tripped over someone's school bag – and tumbled through the shrubbery onto a lush patch of grass._

 _Just below his right eye, a small scratch had been etched into the skin. Not deep enough to bleed, but shallow enough to cause a noticeable stinging. He picked himself up, dusted off his now-grass-stained clothes, and huddled against the tree, flapping his book open to the latest dogeared page._

 _Now to enjoy reading for the next ten minutes and eat his apple._

 _Easy._

 _Except, it was difficult to concentrate when the softest of sobs whispered around the tree trunk. Reached out to him._

 _He sighed, took a bite of his apple, closed his book, and moved around the tree._

 _Another boy, about his age, had his head buried between his knees, his back heaving. Hiccoughing, this timid creature lifted his head and shone a pair of brilliant amber eyes, partially obscured by a few stray ginger curls, at Johnathan._

 _All else in that single moment fell from existence, hanging on a thread._

 _Neither of them said anything – did nothing but gawp at one another like deer in headlights._

 _Acting on instinct, Johnathan extended a hand and laid it to rest on the other boy's shoulder, mustering up what he hoped was a concerned expression; his forehead was crinkled correctly, and the intention was there in his eyes – most people would glean enough information from that, right? So why was he fretting over the miniscule possibility that the look he gave the other boy would be construed as judgement?_

 _An idea._

 _He dipped into his schoolbag, rummaging for the packet of tissues he carried with his antihistamines. One left._

 _On any other occasion, at any other point in time, and with anyone else, he would never have dared be so bold as to wipe away the tears of another person – a boy, no less._

 _This boy, whomever he was, had struck him in a place taught of only in fantasy._

 _Here, in the covert shade amidst the late-Summer sun, its branches bundling them into their own pocket of time, the ancient oak guarded them like a father._

* * *

"Johnathan?" Sherwin said again.

In the time Johnathan spent reminiscing, Sherwin had changed out of his pyjamas and was now standing in the doorway, holding himself in that same expectant manner as his mother, foot-tapping and all.

"Are we going to see your mum today?"

* * *

Though the heat of the sun pricked his neck, it was a cold sweat which erupted on Johnathan's forehead.

He was so preoccupied that his hand was numb to Sherwin's grasp.

Everything had to be exact if this was to go smoothly – the right moment, the right phrasing, the time of day, the weather outside, the temperature in Sydney at precisely fourteen minutes past the hour.

And that was why he leapt into the air, snatching at Shirley and Joanne. If his mother saw the two hearts dancing together as they were-

"Johnny! Where did those hearts come from?!"

Oh. Of course.

Saturdays meant that his mother was off work.

No work meant gardening.

And gardening meant that she gained a sixth sense that alerted her to any and all family members within a fifty-metre radius. It was, at times, highly impressive.

Today was not one of those days.

Johnathan's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Sherwin stood beside him, waiting.

In her mid-fifties, her hair withered by years of single-motherhood, trenches dug into her slim face, Johnathan's mother turned to Sherwin.

"Hello, young man. What's your name?"

For such a dishevelled lady, she possessed within her all the spirit of a twenty-something. She didn't look at Sherwin as he introduced himself, because she was tending to a bed of begonias and watering a tomato vine at the same time.

Upon finishing that task, she grabbed a tin of green paint and a handful of brushes from the doorstep.

"Make yourself useful, you two," she said bluntly, thrusting one at each of them.

They exchanged bemused smirks.

"Come on, don't just stand there! You can tell me all about those two hearts while we work.  
"Oh, Johnathan, don't look so surprised. What kind of mother would I be if I couldn't recognise my own son's heart? Now, get moving! I want to know _everything_!"

And they bustled about the garden, Sherwin working on the fence, Johnathan on the front door, and Johnathan's mother on… a glass of lemonade.

"Hold on," Johnathan exclaimed. "Why do we have to do all this work while you sip lemonade?"

"Children who ignore their parents should be punished," she said wryly, tapping the bridge of her nose.

Sherwin couldn't help but chuckle, as he dipped his brush into the tin and continued painting.

" _Likewise_ ," she said pointedly, and Sherwin felt an accusing stare stab his back, "my child's boyfriend should always make sure I'm aware of where he is and that he has permission to be there. Neither of you are ready for any of that funny business yet and if I allow you to stay over, Sherwin, I will lay out a sleeping bag for you."

This 'funny business' she spoke of had not crossed Sherwin's mind yet.

Although, now that she mentioned it…

No, not yet. Definitely, _definitely_ not yet. That was so far away that it disappeared beyond the horizon.

Johnathan squirmed. Had _he_ considered it?

Applying the final lick of paint to the fence, Sherwin hopped to his feet and placed his hands on his waist, proud of his craftsmanship. He looked to Johnathan for approval, but he wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Good work, Sherwin. We might make a satisfactory housemaid of you just yet!"

"Oh, _Mum_ ," Johnathan sighed. He wiped the sweat from his brow, still refusing to look Sherwin in the eye. "Can we please go inside? It's boiling."

Johnathan's mother rolled her eyes. "All right then. Away with you two, I can finish up from here."

* * *

Fluffiness constituted a large part of the atmosphere in Johnathan's house: the carpets, the sofa and the cushions upon it – even the baby animals featured in the majority of the portraits lining the walls of the living room.

One portrait stood out from the others.

In a violet uniform Sherwin didn't recognise, Johnathan and his glorious smile filled the forty-eight-inch portrait hanging above the fireplace. There was a date etched into the corner of the frame – this photo was three months old, and according to the note scrawled on a card in front it, the very last photo taken of Johnathan in his old school uniform. Privately, Sherwin thought Johnathan looked _much_ better in his current uniform; he didn't like the way the brightness of the old sweater stole the light from Johnathan's eyes.

"Why look at the portrait, when I'm right here?"

Johnathan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The sparkle in his eyes fell over Sherwin in a way far beyond what he was used to, as if he was being homed-in on by a spotlight.

A lump caught in Sherwin's throat, his stomach flapping. These nerves were different – alarming. The kind of nerves one only ever experienced when about to throw themselves bare to the world.

"You've been thinking about it, too, haven't you?"

The motion Sherwin made with his head was too subtle to count as a nod. A twitch, perhaps.

He sat on the sofa, so light he thought he might have fallen through at any moment. Johnathan joined him, and immediately took hold of his hand, eyes dark. A tender, tanned hand came up to Sherwin's cheek.

"Mum is right, but I think you know that already."

As he spoke, there was a palpable tension in the room – in the fraction of space between them.

Sherwin's blood froze in his veins; this was a spectacular sensation, constructed on a foundation of tousled hair, briny blue eyes and teenaged desire. His throat was like sandpaper. Johnathan must have felt it, too, because they were about to fulfil half of that desire.

"Ahem. What did I _just_ tell you two?"

Springing apart like an overstretched elastic band, Sherwin tumbled off the sofa and Johnathan flew to the other side of the room.

Johnathan's mother laughed heartily.

" _Be careful_ ," she insisted. "You're both so young – don't go rushing into things you aren't one hundred percent sure about."

"But Mum!" Johnathan protested. "We've not even though of going that far yet!"

"And what were you just about to do – check for cavities?"

"Okay, fine." Johnathan pouted, perfectly aware of his mother's raised eyebrow. "Is a kiss honestly so bad?"

Sherwin was thoroughly displaced. Perhaps if he moved his arm an inch or two to the right, he could pass as an armchair. Or, maybe, if he was flexible enough, he could arch backwards and pretend to be a footstool.

Silence descended, like a storm over troubled water.

Her response of "Nope" punctured the air, and in the distance, Sherwin could hear the faint _thrrrp_ of a balloon deflating.

She wore a satisfied grin, apparently basking in the scandalised glare Johnathan threw at her.

* * *

Theirs was as unusual a mother-son relationship as Sherwin had ever seen – this kind of relationship existed only in sitcoms.

Johnathan bemoaned his mother's cheerfulness, leaving his bedroom door open at her behest.

"She doesn't take anything seriously," he complained, pushing the door closed a smidge so that he could access the built-in wardrobe hidden behind it. He tried pulling a drawer open but it only budged an inch before something caught. "And this wardrobe has needed repairing for weeks now."

He threw it shut, resisting the urge to kick out.

Furious, he stormed across the room and buried his face in his pillow, roaring. And, calm once more, he reappeared.

"Sorry. It's not very often I let frustration get to me."

"It's okay," Sherwin said gently, and meant it. "We all have our limits. We're all different."

 _Maybe we're more similar than you think,_ Johnathan thought.

* * *

"Sherwin, it's time for you to go home! Johnathan – homework!"

Eight o'clock.

The sun vanished ages ago, the stars venturing out to play in a clear night sky.

Sherwin's head rested in Johnathan's lap, as they huddled together on the bed in front of Johnathan's television, the bedroom light off. They had no idea what film they were watching, because the past hour consisted mainly of gazing wistfully at one another, with the occasional peck on the lips.

"Last night," said Johnathan, keeping his voice low, "what I said? I meant it."

The memory stirred in Sherwin's stomach, the words heavy with meaning.

"I know," he grinned. "And I do, too."

"Oh?" came that girlish, chipper voice. "And what would _that_ be, hm?"

Johnathan's mother poked her head round the door. For a moment, it was strange – her head, just dangling against the backdrop of the light in the hallway.

"Come on, now. That's quite enough of that."

* * *

"Will I get to see you again tomorrow?"

"M'not sure, Sher," said Johnathan, forlorn.

Incandescent light flooded out of the open doorway and spilled over the front garden as Sherwin, all-too-aware of the sudden cold, bounced on the balls of his feet.

"With all the homework I have, it might not be until Monday that we can speak again."

He caught onto the dejection in Sherwin's "Okay", but there was little more that he could do.

"Hey," he said quietly, taking Sherwin by the hand. "We can spend the night together on Monday. I promise."

"And head to school together on Tuesday?"

"Yes," Johnathan laughed. "Hand-in-hand."

Sherwin jerked forward; there was a cheeky gleam in Johnathan's eyes as he caught him mid-fall, cradling him there on the doorstep. Johnathan's mother was upstairs still, and wouldn't be downstairs again for another few minutes.

"What do you say to a proper goodbye?"

There was that charge again, crackling between them. It sparked over them – engulfed them – Sherwin's stomach flipped – Johnathan's heart beat out a symphony against his ribs – the wind picked up and whirled about them, thick with crisp Autumn air and something else, pure and intoxicating and their bodies thrived on it, drinking it in as they surrendered their minds and bodies and hearts to fate - to each other.

If this was how it always would be, Sherwin indeed looked forward to the inevitable future.

He withdrew from Johnathan's lips.

Johnathan was just as dazed, expressionless save for the crystal-clear admiration in his eyes.

He pressed his forehead to Sherwin's, touching their noses.

"I love you, Johnathan."

* * *

What should have been a twenty-minute walk dragged to almost an hour. It was nine o'clock by the time Sherwin crumpled at his front door, head in the clouds, their kiss faint on his lips.

He sat outside his house for some time, unsure if he would ever regain his sense of self. His mother had to help him inside, tossing him over her shoulder and carrying him up to bed in a fireman's lift.

"I've worn that exact same smile once or twice in my time," she giggled, as she laid him on his bed. "Just you wait, Sherrybean. It gets so much better."


	5. Heartfelt

Sherwin could barely see the ground in front of him; he had a basket full of fresh laundry in his arms, the pile as high as his nose. His mother had given him more chores than usual today – by eleven o'clock, he'd done the ironing, removed this load and fed a new one to the washing machine, vacuumed the living room and stairs, and cleaned the dishes. Now, he was playing a balancing act with this treacherous pile of clothing while carrying a bag of washing pegs.

"Mum," he said, voice muffled by the white, fluffy towel that slid into his mouth. "Can you help me a second?"

His mother's hands appeared around the tower and took half of them away. Grateful for the relief, he set the basket on the garden path beneath the washing line. He dipped into the bag and pulled out a few pegs, pinning the clothes to the line.

Since waking this morning, he had tried engaging in conversation with his mother multiple times – each time, she had either smirked at him or thrown another chore for him to complete. Surely, she had run out of chores by now. Maybe she'd respond to him properly this time.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

What he had not been expecting was the riotous laughter.

"Oh, Sherrybean, I'm not avoiding you," she cackled. "It's just difficult for me to see you as the precious young boy you were only a few days ago. Do you remember _anything_ about last night?"

Now that he thought about it, there was a smudge in his memory where the end of last night should have been. He couldn't even remember leaving Johnathan's house, let alone going to bed. The only relic that could have suggested something unusual happened last night was the tingling on his lips.

"That's what I thought. You must have been out in the cold for at least twenty minutes before I realised you were there. I thought you were drunk at first – then I saw your face."

"My face?"

"Yes, your face! Haven't you realised yet? Nobody smiles the way you were – not even myself – unless someone very special and so very, very important has worked their way into their life. Oh, honey - _you're in love_."

It came in a tidal wave of recollection, exploding from the centre of his brain. The cuddling, the cosy light of the TV dancing over Johnathan's slim cheeks – and the kiss. Oh, _the kiss,_ like fireworks in his head.

"You're growing up so fast, Sherwin," his mother cooed. She pulled the basket along the floor with her foot and took another handful of pegs from the bag. "You've done enough today – there's a twenty-pound note on the kitchen worktop – head into town and get yourself something, it'll take your mind off of Johnathan for a bit. The poor dear visited early this morning – he seemed awfully upset."

"He was here?"

"Only briefly. He wanted to make sure that you arrived home safely last night – I offered to let him in but he didn't want to wake you. There's a card on the fireplace for you."

Sherwin ran back into the house – snatched the money from the kitchen counter without looking – and into the living room. As promised, and much larger than Sherwin's head, was a manila envelope, propped up against the wall atop the fireplace.

He took it and sat on the sofa with it, fingers carefully following the seal. He slipped one finger into a corner and peeled it open, pulling the card out.

Two hearts – one pink and one blue – were hugging on the front, musical notes swirling about them, and emblazoned in graceful, gold curls along the top were the words "For Whom my Heart Sings". Chest heaving, radiant warmth swallowing his heart, Sherwin opened the card. In that same, ornate font:

 _Sherwin_

 _I'm sorry we couldn't spend today together. Know that, even though we're apart, I'm thinking of you every minute. Tomorrow night will be special, and that's a promise._

 _I love you._

 _Johnathan_

"He made this…" Sherwin uttered.

With the money closed tightly in his fist, he bid his mother a swift farewell, took his coat from the hanger in the hallway and rushed out the front door.

Thunder rumbled overhead, juddering through the cheap bus windows. The one Sherwin sat next to – the one he was forced to stare out of because the rest of the bus was so cramped – was shattered in multiple places, the spider's web cracks stretching out like old, withered fingers.

Day-old sweat drifted from the back of the bus and hung about the fine hairs in his nose. He pegged it shut.

The bus jerked upwards. Sherwin lifted off of his seat momentarily, bouncing back a second later. Now he remembered why he hated taking busses.

Houses and convenience stores whizzed by, as the rain started.

"Great," sighed the young woman sitting beside him. Her hair was done-up in a tight bun and her lips were pursed.

She pushed the button in front of her and stood, brandishing her umbrella. Rather rudely, Sherwin thought, she used it as a wrangling stick, shoving people either side of the gangway. He was embarrassed to be following her; relieved when she headed left after getting off the bus.

To the right of the bus stop, down a two-lane street, were a handful of stalls selling all manner of products, ranging from sweatshop-made children's toys to generic-brand clothing. Beyond them, partially obscured by mist and drizzle, towered the only shopping centre in town.

Sherwin drew his hood up, feeling about in his pocket to be sure that he hadn't lost the money. He knew what he was going to buy.

Upon first entry, Sherwin hadn't paid much notice to the décor in Johnathan's bedroom. He had been far too preoccupied with its sheer size – at least twice as wide and thrice as long as his own.

A fifty-inch television clung to the wall on the far side of the room, with Johnathan's double bed facing it head-on. Along the walls opposite the window (and even to the right and left of it) were various posters depicting a superhero clad all in buttercup yellow, with a pair of green goggles attached to a utility belt at his waist. In one of them, he held onto the wrist of one of his arms – he was aiming at something: a crosshair covered the gauntlet he wore, atop which was a node of sorts.

"Laserman," Johnathan had squeaked. He puffed up, preparing to give a well-practiced speech. "Oh, he's just the _best_ – in Volume Eighty-Three, Issue Seven, he took on the entire Fabricon Army and only came away with _a broken finger_ – he has a pet noidle – this cute little purple alien thing with three legs and one eye – called Scrubs and – oh, I _love_ this bit – he's got a boyfriend – a _boyfriend! –_ and they'll be getting married in the next issue!"

Out of steam, and apparently aware of the bemused look Sherwin was giving him, he levelled his breathing. Then, calmly: "It comes out tomorrow, but my mum won't let me buy it until I finish all of my homework _and_ do my chores. At this rate, I won't be able to read it until Monday, at the earliest."

Thinking back to that conversation – if one could even call if that – Sherwin headed into the shopping centre, seeking out the comic book store.

He had only ever been in that store once, when he was six. His father had been an avid Laserfan, the term he insisted was the only correct one when referring to Laserman fans. Every Sunday, he would catch the bus to this very shopping centre and return two hours later with a copy of the latest issue, along with a bag of sweets and a brand-new toy for Sherwin.

Sherwin bade the fond memory to the back of his mind.

Seven years had done little to reduce the memory of this place – the _ting_ of the bell as he opened the door – the freshly-printed comic smell – the crimson carpet and the thousands of posters smothering every inch of wall. Dedicated to an entire front-row shelf was a comic display, featuring Laserman and another hulk of a man, hands entwined. In front of it, a sign:

 _The Wedding of Laserman and Nodeboy_

 _£6.99_

Sherwin didn't hesitate. He grabbed one of the hundreds of copies from the top of the cabinet and took it to the checkout.

The cashier, awfully nasal for someone in their mid-twenties, thanked him, and handed him a loyalty card. Maybe Sherwin would come here more often; three more purchases and he could get a free piece of Laserman merchandise. The selection was fairly limited – a cluster of knickknacks and doodads no bigger than snow globes – but free stuff was free stuff.

He thanked the cashier after putting the loyalty card in his pocket. He left the shop then, mindlessly swinging the bag containing the comic, too busy imagining Johnathan's reaction to it to concern himself with the people nearby.

Maybe he'd reward him with one of his trademark hugs – or, if he would be so kind, another of those entrancing kisses.

"Watch where you're going!"

Oops.

In a busy shopping centre, one should always pay close attention to their surroundings. Sherwin cleared his head. His stomach grumbled, so he headed past a terrace of gadget shops and beauty parlours, in search of food.

"Oh, you're back! Just in time!"

Soaked jacket hanging on the rack in the hallway, Sherwin dropped his trainers onto the radiator and went into the living room.

His mother, reclined in her arm chair, had greedy eyes fixed on the dusty old television in the corner. It was ancient – not like the typical flatscreen televisions everybody and their great-grandparents owned. Heavy, and far too bulky for one person to carry.

She was watching some reality TV series about a dozen scantily-clad men and women living in a villa on an island somewhere in the Mediterranean. Each of them was paired-up and sent on dates, and every week they had to vote one couple to leave the island. The winners – the last couple standing – would receive fifty-thousand pounds shared between them.

Talk of this show was extremely common at school, even amongst the jocks and, shockingly, the teachers. Sherwin couldn't see the appeal. His mother knew that.

Besides, there was one glaring fault with the premise – where were the gay couples?

And what was he "just in time" for?

"Hey, Sher."

Johnathan, who had been hidden by the open door, came into view and offered Sherwin a loving embrace. Sherwin's mother watched them, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Johnathan! I thought you had homework and chores to do!"

"Finished 'em," he said proudly. He caressed Sherwin's back. "As soon as they were all done, I came right over – I never break a promise. What's in the bag?"

"Oh – er – erm – nothing much. Just some snacks and a video game – Endless Dream XVI."

"Go and play it, if you want," said Sherwin's mother. She had returned to watching the television. Two of the islanders were sleeping. "Just keep that bedroom door open, please."

As it was a single-player game, Johnathan and Sherwin needed to work together. So far, their team had levelled-up eight times and learned numerous new skills and types of magic, each with varying effects.

They were currently in a boss battle – the first of the game – against an awesome creature. Six huge, furry legs sprawled across the battlefield, sprouting flaming flowers along their path. There were great, orange blobs diving about, whittling away their characters' health points with each impact.

"Those slimes are fire-elemental, right?" said Johnathan, rifling through the manual. The only healer in their party took a final hit, and she fell. "Ah-ha! Sherwin, channel your ice magic and combine it with the spear!"

For three hours, they had huddled on the floor, leaning against Sherwin's bed.

In a flurry of ice and slashing blades, the characters tore through the slimes, rending them in two – and on they carried, severing the creature's legs and dousing the flames it spewed at them.

"Yes! How much health does it have left?"

"We've hit the last threshold!" said Sherwin. "We have no healing available – all our buffs are gone – the only thing we can do is use mitigation."

"Then we need to get this exactly right or we'll have to fight through the dungeon again! Can we revive the healer?"

Sherwin hit a button on the controller and a menu appeared, listing their party's items. A brief perusal told them that, no, they couldn't.

"So, what should we do?"

The creature let out a harsh, shrieking roar. It knocked their party over, sapping more health points from them. The spear-wielder fell.

"The dragoon's gone," said Sherwin. He released the controller, defeated, as the other party members fell to the monster's attacks in quick succession. In bold, red letters:

 _Game Over_

Sherwin switched off the console and the television – and not a moment too soon.

"Right, Sherwin," came his mother's voice. "Blimey, have you two been sitting in the dark all this time?"

She flicked on the light switch. Over one arm she carried a towel and a fresh set of pyjamas, and over the other, a pair of boxer shorts. She tossed them all onto the bed. From across the hall, the bathroom light shone through the glass pane above the door, and running water could be heard.

"It's bath time – that goes for you, too, Johnathan. I'll start running yours once Sherwin has finished. Now, where did I put that sleeping bag?"

And she tottered off, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.

Sherwin stood. He offered his hand to Johnathan, who smiled as he accepted it.

Johnathan pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time.

"It's late."

Johnathan emerged from the bathroom amid a cloud of mist, a towel draped around his waist. Sherwin's bedroom door was closed and the landing light was off. It was funny how distant a lack of light made things seem.

Past the top of the staircase, a door stood ajar. Beyond it, the subtle movements of a dumpy body turning over in bed.

Johnathan crept across the landing, inched open the door to Sherwin's room, and slipped inside.

"Johnathan!" exclaimed Sherwin. "Don't turn around!"

Utterly bewildered, Johnathan obeyed and stared at the bedroom door. Was it made of actual wood, or was it plasterboard?

There was a desperate scuffling behind him. The unmistakable crinkling of plastic. And the smell of… paper?

"Can I look yet, Sher?"

"Yes, turn around."

Playful, Johnathan bounced from foot to foot as he turned on the spot. The playfulness fell from his face when his eyes happened across the comic Sherwin was holding.

"Did you…"

Sherwin smirked, nodding.

He had yet to put his pyjama shirt on.

Seeing him in that semi-vulnerable state awoke the hormones in Johnathan. He gnawed on his lower lip, praying Sherwin would cover up soon.

"You said yesterday that you wouldn't be able to read it until at least tomorrow night, so I figured – why not surprise you tomorrow morning at school? And then I got home – and _you_ took _me_ by surprise by being here – and we played Endless Dream – and I couldn't find the right time to show you."

"Sher," Johnathan uttered, placing a hand to chest – above his heart.

He took the comic, keeping its wrapping intact, and put it on the desk. He embraced Sherwin, hoping that the other boy would share in the love pulsing through him. Sweeping a tender hand through Sherwin's hair, he cupped the back of his head and locked their gazes together. Their noses touched, their cheeks afire, and they kissed.

"I know it was unnecessary," said Sherwin, eyes shimmering in the dull haze of the streetlight glowing in through the window, "but I wanted to make you happy."

"And you have. How can I thank you?"

Tiny bumps peaked on Sherwin's shoulders. He wouldn't meet Johnathan's gaze – couldn't, because Johnathan was considering him in a way he was unaccustomed to.

A voice at the back of skull urged him: " _Do it_."

"No," Sherwin said aloud, though the quaver in his voice betrayed any conviction he may have felt. "I – I'm not ready."

Johnathan held his cheek and their eyes met again, a brilliant flash of sapphire and amber.

"Not ready for what? Sher – what do you think I expect from you?"

They hung there, frozen in darkness.

Sherwin's hands quivered as he brought them up to Johnathan's face, and he gulped. There was a strange heat in the room, charged with an emotion unmentioned – and it terrified him.

Johnathan chose his next words very carefully, sifting through the only two dozen or so that were anywhere close to appropriate. All the rest were thoughts best left to a time far in the future. He picked his best ones out, one-by-one – and with them, a burning courage.

"All I want," he said slowly, reading the fright on Sherwin's pasty expression, "is for you to wake up in my arms."

They kissed once more.

Johnathan lifted back the duvet and scuttled across the bed until his back hit the wall. Sherwin, still shirtless, merely watched him.

Realising the discrepancy, Johnathan removed his own shirt and threw it across the room.

"Does this make you more comfortable?"

Sherwin nodded, relaxing as he climbed onto the bed and nestled with Johnathan under the covers.

Their two teenaged bodies were a remarkably snug fit in Sherwin's bed, with just enough room for them to breathe.

Facing the ceiling, Johnathan beamed into the darkness. He felt Sherwin's head come to rest on his bare chest, and he kissed his forehead.

"I love you," they murmured at once.

And laughed.

Promises were never to be broken. Doing so, Johnathan thought, was a breach of the most basic form of trust a person could afford another. So, fighting the overwhelming urge to chase himself into the shadows, he led Sherwin through the looming, great front doors of the school.

Curious whispering followed them down the hall, and a few scrutinising glares judged everything from their hand-holding to the love in their eyes.

"Johnathan and Sherwin – are they – could they really be – no way! – I had no idea – seriously? – it wasn't a rumour?"

Johnathan deflected all of it, wielding the precious last few days like a shield.

Sherwin held up well under the pressure, having never drawn any more attention than he absolutely had to. In fact, he was more surprised at the other students being able to recall his name than at their acceptance of this unusual but undeniably pure spectacle before them.

"Looks like you two boys are a hit!"

Blonde ponytail swinging in her excitement, Ellie ran to them from her locker, beaming. Something in the way she kept looking from Sherwin to Johnathan and back was awfully suspicious. A large piece of cardboard poked out from behind her back. Johnathan pointed it out, mindlessly pulling Sherwin to his side.

"Okay, two questions – what's that cardboard for? And how does everyone know about us?"

"Boys, did you _honestly_ think that after the fiasco last Thursday, people wouldn't be asking questions? Sherwin, _your heart popped out of your chest_. That kind of thing doesn't usually happen to people our age."

She pulled the bobble out and shook her head, her hair floating to her mid-back in a golden waterfall.

"What do you mean?" said Sherwin, frowning. He knew a sense of self-consciousness he reserved exclusively for the sports changing rooms. As if someone was about to strip him of his dignity.

"I mean," she sighed, pulling out the cardboard and thrusting it at him, a giant heart emblazoned on it, "that you two are the first in school to become Heartfelt."

Johnathan had heard of that before, but only in the bedtime stories his mother rarely, but fondly, relayed to him as a child. They had never come a from a book, so little Johnathan had assumed she was making everything up just for him.

Apparently not.

In the tales, there would always be a man and woman, sometimes in their late-twenties, other times older – much older. One stuck out in particular, of an elderly man who only became Heartfelt at an old friend's funeral. Each day, until the day he himself died, he would sit beside her grave for hours, sometimes reading, occasionally planting flowers – always crying – always with half a heart by his side.

Becoming Heartfelt was a defining moment in a person's life: a state of being in which one's heart intertwines itself with another. Johnathan had been led to believe that a man could only become Heartfelt with a woman. How wrong he had been in that belief; if there was any way to describe how he felt about Sherwin, Heartfelt would be the most accurate.

"I don't get it, though," said Sherwin. "Why the big heart on the cardboard?"

" _You're the first Heartfelt in school!_ Do I have to spell _everything_ out for you?"

Sherwin and Johnathan blinked at her.

"If you wouldn't mind," said Johnathan.

"Ugh!"

Ellie tucked the cardboard under her arm and took the two of them by the wrist. She wheeled them off to the left and into an empty classroom. Closing the door behind her, she rummaged around in one of the cupboards, dragging a roll of paper out and slamming it on the table. She unfurled it and tore a large sheet off, permanent marker in hand.

It moved erratically over the paper as Johnathan and Sherwin watched on, completely nonplussed. For a minute or so, the only sound in the room was the furious scratching of a felt tip against paper. Ellie appeared to be drawing a grid of sorts, and in some of the squares she had written little notes that were unreadable upside-down.

"Look at this," she said flatly, spinning the paper on the table top. "Does it look familiar?"

Johnathan placed his hands to either side of the sheet of paper and frowned, taking in the many boxes and notes and scribbled-out mistakes. He spotted an elongated area labelled 'Hallway', and to either side of that were rooms across which the word 'Classrooms' had been scrawled.

"Do you see it now?"

"This is just a map of the first floor," he told her flatly. Sherwin peered over his shoulder at the map.

"No – wait – Johnathan, look!" He splayed a hand over the largest square, situated at the end of the hallway. He knew he was pointing out the lunch hall, but it hadn't been marked as such. All it showed was a heart. "Ellie, what's happening in the lunch hall?"

"Do you seriously still not get it?! Guys, you're like celebrities now!"

And still they stood there, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head.

Tentative, because Ellie had a scary glint in her eyes and she looked like she would explode if he chose the wrong question, Sherwin said, "Is it a big deal?"

" _Of course, it's a big deal!_ " she shrieked. " _How could it not be? You two are the first people in school this year to swear their hearts to one another – and you're the youngest ones in years! This is a very – big – deal!"_

And on she went, seemingly for hours, explaining the process of recognising Heartfelt status as something of an achievement.

"Look," she said, "the bell will be ringing soon and we don't have a lot of time. Just come to the lunch hall during morning break, okay? The girls and I have something to show you."

By 'the girls', Sherwin wasn't sure if she had meant her own cluster of friends or the entire school. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't really want to know.

For the first two (notably Johnathan-less) lessons of the day, Sherwin was subjected to a concerning number of curious stares and indiscernible mumblings.

In English, the only row of chairs behind him was occupied by a herd of boys, one of whom poured confetti over him. Sherwin, covered in tiny hearts, hurled a filthy stare at the boy, who was genuinely affronted. Ellie had mentioned the possibility of some form of initiation – he just hadn't expected it to be so disruptive and in the middle of a lesson, or for it to leave him sifting pink bits of paper out of his hair twenty minutes into History.

His History teacher, a bespectacled lady in a prim suit, found today to be the perfect opportunity to pay meticulous attention to him. As it so happened, today's subject was Heartfelt.

"Class," she announced in her upper-class drawl. "Today, we are graced with the presence of our first Heartfelt of the year. As such, the lesson plan has been slightly altered to accommodate and educate this young man and yourselves in the mythos and methods of the Heartfelt. By show of hands, how many of your parents are Heartfelt?"

Not even a quarter of the class raised their hand, and a few of those that did were half-hearted. Sherwin kept his hand down; his father had died too long ago for him to remember that particular aspect of him. His mother had ceased functioning for months after his death, and Sherwin was almost taken into care because of it. He often avoided thinking about what that could have been like.

"Very good. Now, how many of you are aware of the ceremony that takes place when Heartfelt reveal themselves – as Sherwin did so only a few days ago?"

This level of attention made Sherwin shrink into his chair. His eyebrows hit the ceiling when all but himself threw their hands into the air.

"Could it be?" said the teacher, raising an eyebrow at Sherwin. "Dear boy, have you become Heartfelt without ever knowing what it means to be so?"

"Well… I'm only thirteen – fourteen in a couple of months…"

For the rest of the lesson, Sherwin felt his very insides decaying in one endless, bored groan.

Whatever it meant to be Heartfelt, it also meant that until morning break, he would have to survive without Johnathan. Luckily for him, the only other lesson he needed to endure before qualifying for that mercy was Cooking – and that was barely a chore at all.

Stout as she was, Mrs Pott bounced on the balls of her feet like a puppy, placing ingredients and utensils on the countertops in front of her students as she skipped about the class. Her wispy white hair was held by up by a net and her kitchen gloves ran the length of her arms, cutting off at her elbows in fluffy yellow tufts.

"Okay, boys and girls!" she chirped. She handed a large stack of paper to the girl in front of her, who took one and handed them along the row. On that continued, until everyone owned a copy of today's recipe. "Today, we'll be making chili – perfect for those dreary, cold nights when you're all tucked-in with family and friends – or your Heartfelt!"

How much would it hurt if Sherwin slammed his head against the counter?

He chose to ignore the continued murmuring about him, hands quaking; failing to do so would have meant paying less attention to slicing his vegetables – and _that_ would have meant slicing his finger open.

"Oi."

Preoccupied with his thoughts and cooking skills, Sherwin didn't notice the boy working next to him. Asian, a little bit chubby and distinctly ordinary, he passed a paper heart across the counter.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Mrs Pott swooped in and took the heart from the counter, waggling her finger at Sherwin – _at Sherwin!_ "Save the hearts for the ceremony, young Heartfelt!"

"But I-"

He shut up, because Mrs Pott had selective hearing.

The idle chatter of Heartfelt had been so mind-numbing that Sherwin was almost entirely certain that his brain had turned to mush. He had taken to actively blocking the noise by sticking his fingers in his ears, and considered shouting "La la la, I can't hear you!" at anyone who would stop talking about it long enough to hear him. So far, it had worked – even if it had drawn a few odd stares.

By the time the bell to signal morning break rang, he knew what it meant to be utterly defeated.

All sounds were muffled, as if coming from the other side of a cotton-padded door.

The only thing on his mind now was making it to the lunch hall and finding Johnathan – preferably not in that order. He kept Johnathan in mind as he dragged himself down the seemingly endless corridors, stopping abruptly when he noticed the horde of students at the doors of the lunch hall.

They clambered among and over themselves in their haste, with a fair few expletives hurled about as well.

A tense hand grabbed Sherwin's wrist and pulled him into a nearby alcove, narrowly avoiding a pair of students dashing towards the odious clump at the end of the hall.

It was Ellie.

"Yeah – planning on going there?" she panted. She poked her head around the corner and looked down both ends of the hall. "Not a good idea and definitely not a pretty sight – and keep your voice down – if they were to see you…"

Sherwin snapped, an unbidden anger finally erupting from him in a tidal wave.

" _Why is everyone suddenly paying us so much attention?!_ " he raged, and didn't notice the dozens of heads creaking in his direction. " _All Johnathan and I want is to be left alone to enjoy our time – we don't want any of this Heartfelt rubbish – we only want each other and we shouldn't have to go through all of this hassle just to satisfy some superstitious tradition!  
"All of this running around – the chattering – the whispering – knowing things about us that not even we know – the secretive meetings – what is it all for and why do we need to abide it?_"

"Erm… Sherwin?"

" _WHAT?_ "

"Run."


	6. Heartless

Today was running terrifically.

Which was more than Sherwin could say about his athleticism.

When he woke this morning, snuggled under the blankets with Johnathan's nose touching his, the very last situation he had expected to find himself in later that day was a state of panic; thundering behind him in a tsunami of slate shirts, and close enough that he could taste their stale cologne and bittersweet perfume, half of his cohort contained within their ranks all the frenzy of a pitchfork party.

Ellie kept pace with him. She was jogging – he, on the other hand, could barely keep up with his own feet.

His breath tore from his lungs in rags, as they barrelled past thousands of lockers that shuddered with each footstep of the stampede. Through a pair of wide-open double-doors, they made a sharp left and took an emergency staircase two-at-a-time.

The walls around the stairwell coughed dust upon them as the too-wide wave of students slammed into the too-narrow doorway a flight below.

Ellie and Sherwin came out, flat-footed, on the second floor and burst through another double-door – which swung out in a wide arc.

They wheeled around it – Sherwin dodged to the right as the emergency bar came within an inch of his lower ribs – and hurtled along a balcony overlooking the lunch hall. Pink and blue bunting hung from another balcony above them and blustered in the rushing wind as they passed. They came loose entirely, fluttering to the lower floors like butterflies, as the horde exploded onto the balcony.

"That put enough space between us and them," Ellie said, maintaining a cool composure even as she picked up her pace. She was now two feet in front of a beetroot-red Sherwin, and that distance was quickly increasing. Inexplicably, she mustered the stamina to fasten her hair back into a ponytail. "Take the next right."

And so, they did, narrowly avoiding poor Mrs Pott. The mountain of paperwork she carried became swept up in the turbulence of their passing; the white paper butterflies that fluttered in their wake, and the bewildered teacher herself, were engulfed by the seething mass charging ever-onwards.

Sherwin couldn't run any longer; his vision was framed in darkness and his breathing was more erratic than any childhood asthma attack could ever hope to have achieved. He and Ellie took another right.

His left foot slipped out from beneath him, and he tumbled forward.

The world revolved around him in that moment, as his face grinded against the rough, thin carpet lining the corridor – the rest of his body continued on its momentum and his neck screamed as he pushed into a forward roll.

Thunderous feet echoed about him, a forest of black pant legs caging him in, and then there were a dozen hands groping his arms and shoulders and legs. They hoisted him into the air, as he placed a palm on his searing cheek.

Drifting along on a sea of hands, Sherwin resigned himself to whatever fate lay in wait, as the students below and around him cheered.

* * *

Voices, taunting and cruel, buzzing around him like bees.

Someone had thrown a blindfold over him at some point – it was difficult to pinpoint when, because Sherwin was struggling to focus on anything but the severe burning in his cheek and the stiff ligaments between his shoulder and neck. He nursed the aching joint, massaging it with two fingers.

Something icy and wet slapped over his cheek. Relief washed over him, the wound's heat slowly evaporating. He sighed.

Now that he was in this situation – and he assumed that this was the ceremony Mrs Pott had mentioned, there would be no way out of it.

"Are our two Heartfelt ready to proceed?"

Sherwin gulped. So, Johnathan had been ambushed, too.

Blinding light forced Sherwin's eyes shut; the blindfold had been torn from his face with such force that the elastic holding it to his head snapped.

"Sher!"

And Johnathan pelted to his side. He took over the role of holding the cold compress to Sherwin's cheek, as Sherwin's eyelids fluttered.

Was someone shining a spotlight directly on him? Or had the blindfold's darkness been absolute?

It a few seconds to readjust, but his eyesight eventually came back to him in a backwards blur.

All around them, madness.

Boys waving blue hearts made of cardboard, girls waving pink – all of them crazed but one.

Ellie approached them, smirking on one side. She placed a hand on her hip, and gestured towards a podium to her left. Behind it, Ms Sharp – the History teacher.

She wore an explicitly kind expression, and that was one of the more unsettling things about this: not the audience surrounding them as if they were actors in-the-round, nor the mandarin duck waddling laps around them.

It was that Ms Sharp, famed for her zero-tolerance and hair-trigger detentions, was smiling at them. The sincerity in it didn't matter, because its crookedness gave it an unparalleled malice anyway.

"Go on," Ellie said, placing a hand on Sherwin's shoulder and urging him forward.

He didn't budge.

"No," said Johnathan, calmly, keeping concerned eyes on the quivering Sherwin. "You've put him through enough as it is."

At that, each of the students around them gasped, the sound similar to an inflating balloon. And then, the murmuring continued:

"We planned all this for them – is he kidding? – it's a rite of passage – but the ceremony!"

"I said no!"

Johnathan removed the padding from Sherwin's left cheek – Sherwin flinched – as the lunch hall dropped into speechless silence. He inspected the luminous criss-cross of scratches and the giant, red blotch they had been etched into. Its heat was incredible, as if Johnathan was standing in front of a radiator.

Sherwin was crying.

"Oh, Sher, no – please, don't cry. It's all right, I'm right here."

Johnathan took Sherwin into his arms and soothed him with long, slow strokes down his spine. He threw a filthy glare at the students.

Not the bunting nor the mandarin duck – with its violet breast, orange plumage and sweeping emerald tail feathers – or the now-sympathetic sheen in Ellie's eyes, were enough to quell the aching fury in his gut.

He hushed Sherwin, pecking his forehead.

"Come on," he whispered. "I'm taking you home."

Leading Sherwin towards the outer circle, none of the students dared so much as look at him. Quite rightly, too, because the blood in his ears was far louder and hotter – and much less volatile – than the molten fury in his throat. The urge to scream at anyone who could hear him was almost overwhelming, but he swallowed it back; Sherwin simpered against him, as the circle parted and they headed out of the lunch hall.

Ellie gave chase, Ms Sharp trotting on unstable high heels behind her.

They were in the school's reception area – a band of students had tried chasing Johnathan as he left Science, but they hadn't counted on his deep-engrained memory of the school's layout or his athleticism. After a quick chase, he had sought refuge under the reception desk and the receptionist, a middle-aged lady with ruby hair, had provided it.

There was one reason he was eventually caught, and that was Ms Sharp: unnaturally eagle-eyed, she had noticed his feet sticking out behind the desk. Five minutes afterwards, he was blindfolded in the lunch hall, alone.

Ellie offered Sherwin a sympathetic smile.

"Guys, come on. This is important."

"Important to who?" Johnathan snapped. He fixed Ellie with a penetrating glare – he was getting quite good at those. Sherwin sniffled once. "To you – the students – the teachers? We don't care about the ceremony, Eleanor. We care about each other – we _love_ each other – and we don't need you, or the teachers, or the students, to validate that with some cock-and-bull superstition."

"But-!"

"St-Stop arguing." Sherwin raised his head a few inches, wrenching bloodshot eyes at Johnathan. His breathing shallow, he hiccoughed a couple of times. "Please… My neck hurts – my face hurts – everything hurts. I just want to go home."

"Sherwin, I…" Ellie's hand was over her mouth, and she was crestfallen. "I had no idea – I'm so sorry."

"Save it," said Johnathan. "Ms Sharp, can we go home?"

She considered them for a moment – considered the request. Realistically, it didn't matter what her response was because Johnathan was taking Sherwin home regardless, and would be more than willing to deal with any repercussions later.

"Very well," she said, though something in the way she said it left a bitter aftertaste in Johnathan's mouth. "I shall mark you both down as absent for the remainder of the day and inform your teachers."

With that done, Johnathan and Sherwin exited the school via its back entrance.

"Easy now – take it slowly – we'll be home soon."

* * *

Johnathan rapped three times on Sherwin's front door.

It was raining, and without a roof over their heads or a jacket to shield them, they were sodden.

"Wonderful," Johnathan sighed, his quiff now flat, dripping water onto his nose. He could barely feel the tip of it; it was freezing out, the air like on his skin like daggers.

Sherwin's lips were turning blue.

They had been standing on the doorstep for five minutes – this was the third attempt at knocking – and still there was no answer.

Sherwin's mother hadn't given him a house key yet. She was supposed to have given him one for his thirteenth birthday, but had insisted that he wasn't mature enough at the time and pushed the occasion back a year.

"How are you holding up, Sher?"

Gentle, as always, Johnathan caressed Sherwin's uninjured cheek. The poor boy was shivering harder now, his teeth clattering. He wouldn't be able to stay out much longer – he needed a hot bath, food, tender-loving care, and a nap.

"M-Mum will be out sh-shopping."

He offered no estimate of how long she would be gone, so Johnathan was left with only one option.

"Come on," he said, turning Sherwin away from the door and leaving through the front gate. "You can rest at my house."

* * *

Johnathan had possessed a house key since he turned eleven. Not because his mother had deemed him mature enough to own one; she had taken up a job working for the civil service in town, and always came home late in the evening as a result of the arduous hours that came with it.

It was good money – the main reason she was able to afford the latest gadgets and gizmos that occupied two-thirds of the available pigeon holes in the cabinet supporting his television. Most of those were gaming consoles, only a fraction of which Sherwin knew even existed.

Johnathan's Laserman duvet set sprawled over Sherwin's exhausted, aching body. From here, the television set seemed miles away, and his own thoughts further than that.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, not that he really cared. All he knew was that the buzz of the talk show on TV was annoying him, and the burn in his cheek hadn't really subsided.

He peeled a third of the dried pad off of his face, but immediately stopped when he realised the fibres had created a seal between the cotton and his cheek – it stretched the already-sensitive skin, and he released a primal yelp of pain.

Quicker than he thought anyone could move, Johnathan appeared at the open doorway.

"Sher," he said, the warmth he carried with him swallowing the ice around Sherwin. It thawed his heart. "How are you feeling?"

Bundled up in thick covers and half-sunk into a memory foam mattress, with a slab of leathery cotton on his cheek, a pulled neck and some deep aches down his spine, Sherwin found it difficult to resist injecting sarcasm into his words:

"Better."

"You sure?"

Johnathan climbed onto the bed, and the covers rippled like the waves of the ocean. It caused a pleasing rush of fresh air to come flooding in through the bottom of the bed. He gazed at Sherwin with half-lidded eyes and a warm smile, placing a hand his forehead.

"You're really burning up."

"I'll be okay," Sherwin insisted. He would have lifted his head up to kiss Johnathan, but the muscles in his neck protested when he tried – it was as if someone had screwed an iron pole between his head and shoulder, and any kind of movement felt like he was restructuring his very bones.

Johnathan had an eyebrow raised at him.

"Is that so? Well, Mr Okay, how hungry are you?"

The word 'hungry' sent Sherwin's stomach into spasms. He must have winced, because Johnathan chuckled.

"I'll fetch you some sandwiches."

Johnathan made it to the door when Sherwin called him.

"Wait!"

"What is it?"

Curling one of his hands into a half-heart, Sherwin offered it to Johnathan. And Johnathan did the same, aligning their hands to form a full heart.

"I love you, Johnathan."

"I love you, too, Sher."

* * *

Johnathan's mother would probably take issue with him allowing Sherwin to stay the night. It had to be done, though; there was something more in his illness beyond the severe graze on his cheek or the aches in his neck and joints.

Sherwin's eyes were burdened by purple bags and he was alarmingly pale, even after Johnathan had fed him tuna sandwiches.

"Open up, Sher," Johnathan said gently. He poured a small amount of water between Sherwin's parched lips. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sherwin could see the concern in Johnathan's eyes – it dirtied them, tainting that beautiful sapphire.

The truth was, he felt awful. Aches and pains aside, his throat felt like he had swallowed a razor blade and his brain rattled around in his skull. Keeping his eyes open was enough of a struggle, and he was losing that battle.

He didn't say anything, merely laying there and gazing at Johnathan.

The cotton pad lay discarded on the bedside cabinet, having been cautiously removed by Johnathan after he had brought up Sherwin's sandwiches. It had taken a well of patience on Sherwin's part, surgical precision from Johnathan, and a few millilitres of water for it to be peeled away with little fuss. But the job was done, and now Johnathan had taken fondly to playing doctor.

In a gravelly voice that made Johnathan wince, Sherwin, "You don't have to keep doing that, you know?"

"But I want to," Johnathan said, dabbing the graze with a wet cloth. "You're not well, Sher, and I want to fix it."

And so, Sherwin sank further into the mattress, grateful for this new kind of attention. It reminded him of whenever he fell ill as a child – his mother would feed him sandwiches and sing to him, and cuddle him if the illness became a bit too much for his little self to bear.

There would be no crying this time; even if he wanted to, he couldn't. There was a damp splotch on the bed around him, and his clothes were soaked. His temperature kept climbing, and he had to throw the covers onto the floor to avoid overheating.

"I'm hot," he complained.

Johnathan considered opening a window for him.

It was still raining.

"Sorry, Sher," he uttered, placing a kiss to Sherwin's clammy forehead. He was scorching. "If I open a window, it'll just start raining inside."

The pained look Sherwin gave him then was like a sword in the heart. But he had to remain steadfast in his conviction this time because his mother would already be annoyed enough at having an unexpected guest – even if said guest was her son's ill boyfriend.

He could imagine the length and breadth of her complaints – of her food being eaten without her knowledge, or more gas and electricity being used than usual. Sherwin was hardly a person in excess. Frankly, Johnathan thought the world owed him at least something.

He hadn't told Sherwin this, but he'd noticed the threadbare carpets in his house, the nicotine-yellow ceiling in the living room, and the bathroom walls laden with mould. In circumstances like that, Sherwin should have fallen ill more often – though the low lung capacity seemed enough of a handicap. Perhaps it was the illness causing it, but Johnathan had never heard of a person issuing a death rattle unless they were dying – and he was certain that Sherwin would not be dying in his bed. Not today.

Not for another several decades.

"Mum should be home soon," he said. Perhaps he would give in just a tad. He opened the window closest to Sherwin by an inch.

A gale blustered down the street; in the garden of an end-house, outline faded by the encroaching fog, a balding tree danced, handfuls of golden leaves stolen from its branches. The wind took hold of them during their descent and they scattered across either side of the street. Like wedding confetti, Johnathan mused, smiling to himself.

Maybe he would get around to reading his comic with Sherwin today. After he had woken up, of course. Auburn hair slicked to his skull, mouth as wide as a cave, the snores shuddering down Sherwin's throat were both raucous and satisfying.

* * *

Primetime television had become utter garbage in recent years. The choice was either some old, tired gameshow that had been running seven series too long – the type in which the host was more interesting than the game and the contestants themselves – or an average soap opera set on an average street somewhere in average Britain, complete with average storylines and average, unrelatable characters.

Johnathan flicked through a few more channels, eventually settling on a long-since-cancelled sitcom about two grown men living on a farm. It was, in every sense of the word, dull. In one scene, the characters were shovelling animal waste into a skip. Predictably, one of them turned around, holding their shovel up, and accidentally hit the other in the back of the head. Even the laugh track, as the hapless farmer toppled into the skip, somehow managed to be funnier, though Johnathan laughed at neither.

Sherwin had fallen asleep half an hour ago, just before night settled.

Johnathan's mother should have been home by now – it was nearly half-past-seven. This level of lateness was rare, but wasn't a reason to be concerned. Even so, something pinched in Johnathan's stomach. Unease.

He'd prepared a plate of cheese and crackers for himself just a short while ago. They remained untouched, staring at him.

 _Flick_.

Television was too broad a category of entertainment to not include something Johnathan wanted to watch – and time was too narrow a concept for such potential variety during early primetime. The only shows airing right now would be carbon copies of the gameshow and soap opera he had avoided, and he despised sitcoms altogether. He craved the adrenaline of a high-speed chase – the instinctual terror of a horde of the undead feasting upon ropes of hot, gooey intestines.

All of that had been sealed behind a vault labelled 'The Watershed'. Its lone guard, a middle-aged woman with trenches deep-set into her face.

The very same woman stepping over the threshold in the darkened hallway, retracting her umbrella. She blew out a whoop as she slipped her high-heeled shoes off her feet and hung her trench coat on the rack.

"The weather out is just _frightful_ ," she exclaimed, giggling to herself like a schoolgirl playing in the rain.

She hadn't noticed the extra pair of shoes at the foot of the stairs.

Just as he had been hoping to enjoy a bit of alone time downstairs, the hairs on the back of Johnathan's neck prickled and he gritted his teeth. Once, and only once, could his mother maintain the mature, professional demeanour he knew her job demanded. There were only so many glib retorts and lackadaisical shrugs that he could tolerate. It wouldn't be so bad if his mother would just _listen_ to him.

"Oh, have you already eaten, Johnathan?"

She hadn't even looked at him as she passed by the sofa. All he'd got from her was a ruffle of his hair – at this point, he was certain she just didn't care that he hated anyone touching it.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. Sherwin could ruffle his hair anytime he liked – he chose not to simply because he knew Johnathan didn't like it when anyone else did.

"Mhm," Johnathan grumbled.

He took a bite of one of his crackers. It was like chalk and rubber on his tongue: chewy, and artificial. Spitting it out would be counterproductive, but swallowing it could be downright fatal.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, sweetheart. Is everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Well, it doesn't sound it. You haven't fallen out with Sherwin, have you?"

"Nope."

"Oh, Johnathan, be like that if you want, but can you be like it upstairs? Today has been especially trying for me and I shouldn't have to come home and deal with your petty teenaged angst."

For him, 'petty' was an explanation – for her, an excuse. An excuse for the years she had spent riding out her youth well into her forties and beyond.

She had spent two decades of her life adamant that she would never conceive, and another decade raking in money that she would hardly ever spend.

Jarred by another encroaching milestone, one wrought by the iron shackles of menopause, her carefree lifestyle dominated by booze, one-night-stands and partying tumbled around her like a house of cards. Her parents had passed years prior and her siblings had long since abandoned the sister who, until then, had fumbled around the world with her eyes wide shut and her ears open only to the sound of her own voice.

The following two years, in some desperate bid at retaining her youth while making something worthwhile of herself, had been a drunken haze fuelled primarily by the primal urge to procreate.

At forty-two, as a planned consequence of another one-night-stand, she obtained that which she felt she had been missing – but which her heart and her mind knew would be her only chance of continuing whatever skewed legacy she may leave behind.

Johnathan was her out – the embodiment of all she had never strived for until it was too late. And now that she was in her mid-fifties, her fertility stolen from her half a decade ago, she would never have another chance at it. That was why she had made sure her son could own all he wanted – to make the most of himself, like she had, by giving him the opportunities she so wilfully ignored.

She had brought Johnathan into the world on a bed of bank notes and love – why did he resent her?

* * *

There was only so much biting Johnathan's lower lip could take – it wasn't a stress toy.

Sherwin remained asleep, so he kept his furious pacing as quiet as he could. The carpet was padded enough to cushion it, but it would have no effect on the angry puffs whistling out of his nose with each footfall.

He ran his hands through his air, gritting his teeth some more.

A bitter response was exactly what his mother had been hoping for. Spiting her, he had turned the television off and took the stairs two-at-a-time.

It was remembering that Sherwin was still in the house which brought his boiling anger down to a simmer, and now he seethed away in his bedroom like an unsupervised cooking pot.

The chink of pottery echoed upstairs, followed by running water; the pipes in the walls groaned around him and the boiler in the attic above whooshed to life.

Sherwin turned over.

"Johnathan?" he mumbled. In the darkness, a pair of lips smacked together. Johnathan had forgotten to bring him a glass of water. "I'm thirsty."

Johnathan couldn't just ignore the request – and he would have to face his mother again soon anyway because, like it or not, she needed to know that Sherwin was here.

He didn't say anything as he left the bedroom. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the water had stopped running and his mother emerged from the kitchen, hand towel draped over her arm.

"Johnny, I'm sorry," she said, extending her arms to Johnathan. Her expression was gentle, sorrowful. "You know I don't think you're petty."

That was a lie.

Giving her a wide berth, Johnathan moved past her façade of a hug and went into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a jug of water and two glasses. Like a bloodhound, she was on the scent. Piercing eyes fixed on the two glasses, and then on Johnathan. He had been on the receiving end of that look so many times that his skin had become impenetrable, scarred by the judgement of a lonely woman living – or trying to live – vicariously through her only son.

"He's here, isn't he?"

"Well, I don't know how you could _possibly_ have come to that conclusion, mother – and his name is Sherwin."

Danger flashed between them, as they stared each other down. He would not relent this time.

"Johnathan Myles, I _warned_ you about bringing uninvited guests home."

"He's my boyfriend! He's ill!"

"So, send him home! I don't want either of you alone unsupervised! Do you have _any_ idea how much I worry that you'll end up doing something you'll regret?"

"Mother," said Johnathan, and though his voice was calm, his words were laced with venom. "My life has meaning – direction. I'm Heartfelt at thirteen. You're Heartless at fifty-five."

It was as if the words she most feared had finally spilled out of her son's mouth in some toxic, tragic truth.

Johnathan walked away from his crestfallen mother, triumphant.


	7. Heartsworn

"Unbelievable!"

Johnathan booted his bedroom door. The thin wood gave, and his foot shattered through in a shower of splinters. The sound was like a gunshot, ringing over thrice in Sherwin's head.

Steam practically billowed from Johnathan's nostrils as he glowered there, his shoulders heaving in the ghostly glow of the moonlight shimmering through the window.

Sherwin's fever had evaporated and his head was not as sensitive as it had been, but his throat was still raw. A good nap had been what needed, even if it did nothing to ease his cheek.

From beyond the reach of the moonlight, he watched as Johnathan paced around the bedroom in circles. From the limp with which he now walked, kicking the door had not been painless.

"How dare she!" he bellowed, firing his voice at the floor. "She doesn't listen to me – she doesn't _know_ me – when anyone else is around, it's as if I don't exist! Being a mum is clearly not as important as ensuring that she gets her peace and quiet – oh, no, please forgive me for wanting to be acknowledged for once!"

Meekly, because he reluctant to tell Johnathan he was being a tad unfair, he said, "That was a bit mean…"

"Mean! How can you call me mean?!"

He rounded on Sherwin, who scuttled under the covers and hid from view. He softened almost immediately, realising who he was addressing.

An overwhelming sadness froze his heart when he approached the quivering lump on the bed. Sherwin must have had a sixth sense; as Johnathan reached out to him, the lump shuffled further towards the headboard, the duvet shuffling with it.

Sniffle.

Great going, Johnathan.

With a voice as tender as he could muster, tying the words into ribbons of love, he said: "Oh, no… Sher, I – I didn't mean…"

Sniffle.

Muffled sobbing began, tugging at Johnathan's heartstrings some more.

"Sher, please, come out. _Talk to me_."

"What – so you can shout some more?"

"Sherrybean… _Please_ hear me out."

If pleading wouldn't work, the nickname certainly would. It may be a nickname Sherwin despised, but perhaps hearing it from Johnathan would be enough of a surprise for him to at least poke his head out of the covers.

"Don't call me that. You know I dislike it."

At least it wasn't an outright rejection.

"I promise to never call you it again – but only if you talk to me."

Peering over the duvet, dazzling amber reflected the light of the moon. They were wet, and sad, and yearning for love.

"Why did you snap at me like that?"

The answer to that was, Johnathan didn't know. No matter how much he racked his mind, he could find no excuse – the truth was that there simply wasn't one. Meeting Sherwin's gaze in that moment meant admitting something that Johnathan wasn't quite ready to accept. So, he stuck to staring at the bed sheets.

"Johnathan? Answer me, please."

"I'm sorry," he uttered. "It's just that – it's difficult. I look at the relationship you have with your mum and think, why not me? Why can't I have the kind of mother-son relationship you two have – your mum is sweet, and caring, and kind, and even though she's a bit intrusive, she's given you clear boundaries and tries not to cross them whenever she can help it. My mum? All I get is the cold shoulder when I try speaking to her, and on the off-chance she'll actually listen to what I have to say, she'll make light of it."

Sherwin kicked the covers back – shoved them onto the floor – and crossed his legs. He looked determined, frowning at Johnathan with an odd kind of speculation.

"Speaking to her might be a better idea than attacking her."

Sherwin hadn't said that. A voice behind the bedroom door had.

Emerging into the slice of moonlight streaking the wall beside her, clad in a luxurious, silken dressing gown, Johnathan's mother appeared desperate. As he turned around, her eyes fell over Johnathan not with disappointment or anger, but with shame.

She folded her arms differently to her son – where it was a show of confidence for him, for her it was like a concealment of her insecurities. She held herself there for a moment, as deafening silence filled the vacant space in the room.

Seconds ticked by, but they may well have been minutes, before anyone spoke.

"Johnny, I want you to listen to me, now – this is very important."

Johnathan opened his mouth to protest, but Sherwin covered it with a hand and held a finger to his own lips.

"Just listen," he insisted. Johnathan looked at him, pleading intensity swirling in his eyes.

"I may not know how to show it," his mother continued. She perched herself on the very end of the bed, maintaining her distance, "but _of course_ I love you, son. Certainly, I've made mistakes in the past – and, certainly, swearing off children until it was almost too late was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

"But you, oh, _you_. Johnny, no, never, you were never a mistake. I don't regret having you; I regret not having you sooner. Nothing could ever make me regret you – you're the only achievement in my life that ever truly mattered."

"But what about giving me the cold shoulder? I've tried speaking to you so many times only for you to turn me away or make fun of my problems."

Johnathan's voice wobbled as he spoke, tightening in places as he swallowed back his tears.

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder. She brought herself close to him, focussing intently.

"Hearing you in any kind of difficulty is heart-breaking. I thought that, maybe, if I made light of the situation that you'd feel better somehow. Clearly, I was wrong, and should have done more to be the support you needed. Have I made it difficult for you to come out to me?"

"It's not that, it's… I knew you wouldn't hate me for who I am, but… Mum, aren't you upset that I won't be able to give you grandchildren?"

"Whatever are you talking about? Your life is yours to make whatever you want of it – within reason, of course. Son, you could have a dozen grandchildren or you could have none and I'd love you all the same. The only thing that matters is your happiness."

She moved her hand onto his back, bravely attempting a hug. There was still some hesitance there, but Sherwin (pretending that he didn't exist) could see the cracks forming in Johnathan's stony resolution.

"If my happiness is what really matters," said Johnathan, placing a hand on his mother's chest and keeping her far enough away to prevent said hug, but not so far as to freeze her out altogether, "then why do you keep insisting that Sherwin and I can't be alone together?"

One corner of her mouth slighted into a smirk. Her eyes shone with wisdom, wrinkles creasing at the corners.

"I was young once, Johnny. The temptation is there – don't deny it, I've seen it twice between you two."

It was nice that she acknowledged Sherwin, but all it did was make him feel more uncomfortable.

"All we've done is kissed and cuddled, Mum." Johnathan inched closer to her now, thawing. "We've talked about _that_ , but we both know we aren't ready. Why can't you trust us?"

His mother's smirk widened.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's easy to forget that you're not the helpless little boy you were just a few short years ago. Perhaps I have been a bit overbearing in that regard lately. It was such a shock to see your heart dancing with another person's – let alone a boy! You always said you would never _dare_ go out with anyone – do you remember? I think you were only eight when you said it, but you used to get mightily annoyed whenever I mentioned _her_ to you."

Even with the back of his head facing him, Sherwin knew Johnathan was blushing.

"Mum," he whined. There was neither anger nor bitter resentment there. Instead, playfulness. "I didn't just decide to go out with Sherwin."

"You didn't?" Sherwin piped up, the words almost a betrayal.

"Well, no – nobody decides who their Heartfelt is, do they?"

Johnathan's mother stood up and turned on the bedroom light.

The window was open, but the night was still. Chilling air sighed in through the two-inch gap, just cold enough to turn Sherwin's breath to mist in front of him.

"No, Johnny," said his mother, still smiling. "The heart chooses what it wants – and rarely does it ever go ignored. Treasure what you and Sherwin have, sweetheart – even I, a Heartless, can see how special it is."

"Mum?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

The following morning, a hearty breakfast of sausages, bacon and eggs awaited Sherwin and Johnathan in the kitchen.

* * *

Sherwin had decided he would spite the still-sizzling injury on his cheek; rather than being unproductive and moping about his house today, he was going to face up to the students and staff at school, proud to have his boyfriend, Johnathan, by his side – on their own terms. Whatever ceremony they had planned, it would have to wait until the next Heartfelt couple appeared. For now, Johnathan and Sherwin were their own people, living life for themselves and accepting no judgement from anyone.

That had been Jenny's idea – Johnathan's mother.

"Boys, do what feels right for you," she had said, shortly before bidding them both into bed, each with a kiss on the forehead and a glass of water. "And don't let anybody – even me – stop you."

And that was their agreement – a deal signed by the imprint of a kiss and bound in the warmth of two intimate bodies. To each be their separate selves but live as one.

Sherwin found out earlier that morning that Johnathan had gotten in touch with his mother the night before. It had eased his anxiety when Johnathan told him she was ecstatic upon hearing of their Heartfelt status.

"Goodness gracious me!" she had exclaimed. The news was apparently more important than hearing of her son's injury. "Heartfelt, at thirteen! I hope you boys know what you're doing – being Heartfelt means more than just being together, you know?"

Johnathan had been quick to end the call soon after, because Sherwin had warned him previously that she could speak both herself and other people breathless.

"Are you both ready for another day at school?" said Jenny, pouring a glass of milk out each for the two boys, taking care to not accidentally dip the sleeve of her peach work blouse in the mug of coffee beside her. "I imagine your teachers will be curious to know where you went off to yesterday – and your fellow students might expect answers for leaving the ceremony so abruptly."

The only person Sherwin wasn't particularly keen on seeing today was Ellie. She had known about the ceremony all along – had planned it – had meticulously predicted each of his movements and warped the procedure around him until he had fallen – quite literally – into the right place, at the right time. His lungs still rattled like a pair of maracas whenever he tried breathing deeply, and he had her – and all the other students who chased him – to thank for that.

He wasn't upset with her. He was disappointed. She had led him to believe that she held his best interests at heart – if that truly was the case, she had done a very poor job of showing it.

"What were you thinking about – at breakfast?" said Johnathan, as they changed out of their pyjamas and into the school uniform. Seeing each other in their underwear was, of course, exhilarating; it was knowing that they needn't worry about anyone judging them anymore that made it as natural as all the kissing and cuddling they had done so far. They even shared a quick kiss before pulling their shirts on.

"Ellie," said Sherwin, his voice devoid of emotion. He slipped into his trousers, as Johnathan put his socks on. "It's hard not to feel betrayed when she made such a good display of trying to help me escape. What do I get for trusting? A shiner on my face."

"It's not all that bad, you know? You're still beautiful to me."

Sherwin scoffed.

"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? You're my Heartfelt."

"And does that make my thoughts any less valid?"

"Not in the slightest bit."

And they kissed again, now fully-clothed.

* * *

Ellie was waiting in the main hall when they arrived at school, wringing her hands and chewing her lower lip away.

In spite of Johnathan's suggestion otherwise, Sherwin, at first, had neither the time nor the care to deal with her.

"If we're going to live life for ourselves," Johnathan reasoned, as they took a seat beside each other in Art, "we need to let things like this go."

Sherwin knew Johnathan had a point. It was hard to argue with him, so he started selecting if and when Ellie had permission to approach and speak to him.

One such occasion occurred at the beginning of morning break, when Ellie accosted him as they left their shared Biology lesson.

"If you're not going to talk to me," she pleaded, "then at least listen to what I have to say."

He wanted to spit a deadpan "Go on," at her, but that would have been very petty indeed. Remaining silent was a much better option – at least then she wouldn't be able to tell what his true thoughts were.

He was giving her the time of day only because Johnathan had asked him to.

"The Heartswearing – the ceremony we were going to perform – isn't just a superstition, Sherwin. We weren't doing that for ourselves."

He bit.

"Who was it for, then?"

"You two, obviously!"

Why was she acting as if he and Johnathan had disrespected the other students? From his point of view, Sherwin deemed it exceedingly disrespectful to relentlessly foist the ceremony on the two of them in the first place. He voiced as much as he marched across the courtyard to the lunch hall – where he and Johnathan were due to meet five minutes ago. Ellie jogged to keep up.

She had cut her hair – it hovered just above her shoulders in an upside-down dirty-blonde dome.

"Look," she said definitively, "meet me at the old oak outside after the final bell and I'll show you what I mean." And when she noticed the distrusting glare Sherwin threw at her, she added, "It'll _only_ be me."

* * *

Why Sherwin allowed himself to be convinced, he had no idea.

It was quarter-past-four, freezing, and blackened clouds crept over the horizon like some hideous beast waking from aeons of hibernation. There was a calm electricity in the air.

It would be thundering soon.

Johnathan greeted him beneath the ancient branches with a hug and a kiss. Apparently, Ellie had accosted him in much the same manner after lunch. It had been easier to convince him to meet her here, if only because she had told him Sherwin would be here first.

And she wasn't here at all yet.

Sherwin was about to start wondering why, when the front doors of the school flew open and out ran Ellie, draped in a technicolour set of robes that he was sure had been used in a school play once in the past. What on _earth_ was she doing with that mandarin duck?

It was pretty, certainly. Perhaps even interesting if it weren't so out-of-place.

"Mandarin ducks are a symbol of love in Chinese culture," Ellie explained hastily. Now that she was here, she was acting like she wanted to be anywhere _but_ here. That, Sherwin could understand. Even through the thickness of his sweater, the cold was mind-numbing.

Johnathan shuddered beside him.

What was the point of this again?

"If you'd stayed just a few more minutes," Ellie continued, "you'd have understood why the ceremony is so important."

And she brandished the mandarin duck at them. It flapped wildly in her arms, hurling opalescent feathers over the school garden.

"Kiss it, please."

"What?" shouted Johnathan. "No!"

"You guys, the longer we stand out here in the cold, the more likely it is we'll all die of hypothermia. Do either of you want that?"

Unbelievable.

Sherwin scrunched his eyes shut as he and Johnathan leaned towards the mandarin duck's violet breast, his lips puckered.

Ellie erupted into raucous laughter.

"Wow, you two actually fell for that!" she cackled, holding the bird above her head.

Sherwin and Johnathan glared at her.

"All right, all right, sheesh! Okay, the point of this mandarin duck is to oversee the Heartswearing ceremony – even if this one is going to be uncharacteristically short."

"Hold on, Ellie," said Johnathan, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "We didn't agree to taking part in this ceremony."

"You're both standing here, and you both knew why I wanted to meet you two after school."

He closed his mouth.

From a pocket inside her robes, Ellie withdrew a small, velvet box, and handed it to Johnathan.

They stared at her, not maliciously so but with complete and utter confoundment.

"I don't think the contents of that box need any explanation," she said. "I've played my part in blessing you two with the mandarin duck's presence. The rest is up to you."

Sherwin and Johnathan exchanged anxious glances. The box was smooth in Johnathan's hand, almost reassuring. Nothing was reassuring about what lay within its depths.

"Do – Do you want to?" Sherwin offered, stunned that they could even be thinking of this at their age.

" _Being Heartfelt means more than just being together, you know?_ "

Johnathan remembered Sherwin's mother's words, and pondered them.

Could this be what she had been referring to?

"Do you?" Johnathan replied.

The sentiment dangled between them in the form of this inconspicuous box.

The beast in the sky had almost awakened, a decision yearning to be made.

"Boys?" Ellie urged. "It's going to rain very soon and I'd really rather not be dripping wet in the next five minutes."

"I don't understand," said Sherwin. "What's the box for?"

"There are rings inside it," Johnathan said flatly, excitement and terror burning behind his eyes as he gazed at the box.

"That would be correct. The Heartswearing ceremony is important because it solidifies the bond you form when you become Heartfelt. After this, your hearts will merge into one, and you'll not be Heartfelt, but Heartsworn."

Anxious, with the reason being that this sounded like a huge commitment – and therefore probably _was_ – Sherwin said, "So… If we went ahead with this, we'd be married?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" Ellie exclaimed immediately. "But you'll be one step closer. You're making the promise to one another that few ever do and truly mean. The rings in the box symbolise that, and the mandarin duck is considered a vital part of this ceremony. Like I said, they're considered a symbol of love in Chinese culture and their presence is deemed a sort of good luck charm. The ceremony dates back to ancient China – when a priest dressed in multicolour robes would perform a blessing on two people, and they would exchange rings."

"Well, Sher? What do you think? I know it's soon, but as my mum said: we should do what makes us happy. Swearing my heart to you? Nothing could make me happier."

Those words sent shivers down Sherwin's spine, and with them, a confidence unlike anything he had ever felt. Confidence in himself – in his future – all of it embodied in the handsome boy beside him.

"Yes," he said, grinning ear-to-ear. He turned to Ellie. "What do we need to do?"

"Just stand there. I'm about to perform the blessing. Oh, and make sure you're holding hands."

They did so, as Ellie held the mandarin duck above their heads. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. As she drew three circles above their heads, the mandarin duck started twinkling, a glittering rainbow cascading over their heads and enveloping them in an odd sensation – it permeated them, beginning in their head, and rolled over them in waves. Something in their chest pulled.

"Got it," Ellie said.

She hoisted the duck higher, and Shirley and Joanne appeared, staring about in confusion.

"We're almost done.

"O', Guardians of Love, Life and Spirit, I beseech you: with this mandarin duck as your guide, enter these two young, pure hearts and imbue them with your limitless care and affection. Be the shining force which beckons them home to one another, and allow them to know the love felt by so many others for millennia."

As she reeled off the last of her speech, the wind picked up about Johnathan and Sherwin. It was hot, loving, gentle. It reminded them of the emotions that had flooded through them on the night of their very first kiss.

"Okay, boys, you can kiss now."

And they did.

Light engulfed them. It vanished as soon as it appeared, its effect not as long-lasting as the blush on their cheeks, the tingle on their lips, or the love in their hearts.

Shirley and Joanne were now as one – an amethyst heart, larger than her predecessors. Sherwin and Johnathan smirked at Shoanne, and she smirked back.

"And that's that," Ellie said, clapping her hands. There was a beam of hope in her eyes. "You're now Heartsworn. Congratulations, you two – you really do deserve one another."

She bade them farewell, tucking the mandarin duck under her arm as she dashed into the school building.

Johnathan pried open the ring box – inside it, two simple, gold-plated bands. He took one of them and held Sherwin's left hand.

"I didn't think I'd be putting a ring on your finger this soon," he said, still grinning. He slid the ring onto Sherwin's fourth finger, and then handed him the box. "But crazier things can happen."

"Yeah," Sherwin chuckled. He took Johnathan by his left hand and slid the second ring onto his fourth finger, "like your heart popping out of your chest to chase the boy of your dreams."

Johnathan half-closed his eyes, the grin relaxing into a warm emotion.

"I'm glad it did," he said, and he placed a light kiss to the tip of Sherwin's nose. "I love you, Sherwin."

"I love you, too, Johnathan."

And as they left the school garden, the first flashes of lightning forked overhead.

* * *

Neither the battering winds nor icy rain could disturb Sherwin and Johnathan's high spirits tonight. They were dawdling in the midst of a storm, the heavens clapping above and around them as they freely splashed about in ankle-deep puddles. When they weren't skipping down streets close to flooding, they were laughing joyously between themselves, arms linked – Shoanne hurried after them, tumbling over herself in her haste to not be left behind.

The promise rings on our boys' fingers glittered like beacons against the encompassing darkness of another cold, Autumn night.

This wasn't the first, nor would it be the last – it was simply one more step in the journey they were about to share.

It was all a part of what would become just another long walk home.

* * *

 _ **Fin.**_


End file.
